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THE “PRAIRIE” CLASSICS. 


Volumes Ready. 

IvANHOE. Sir Walter Scott. 

Kenilworth. Sir Walter Scott. 

A Tale of Two Cities. Charles Dickens. 
Oliver Twist. Charles Dickens. 

Each in one volume, with frontispiece 
in colours by George Alfred Williams. 
$1.00 net. 

*** Other volumes in ^preparation. 


A. C. McClurg & Co., Publishers. 












THE 


PRAIRIE” CLASSICS 


□ □□ 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


WITH FRONTISPIECE IN COLOURS 


GEORGE ALFRED WILLIAMS 


A. C. McCLURG & CO 


PUBLISHERS, CHICAGO 





COPYBIGHT 

A. C. McClurg & Ca 
1907 


Published October 26, 1907 


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THE UKIVERSTTY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. 


INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 


Now fitted the halter, now traversed the cart, 

And often took leave, but seem’d loath to depart! 

Prior. 

T he Author of the Waverley Novels had hitherto 
proceeded in an unabated course of popularity, and 
might, in his peculiar district of literature, have 
been termed Venfant gate of success. It was plain, how- 
ever, that frequent publication must finally wear out the 
public favour, unless some mode could be devised to give 
an appearance of novelty to subsequent productions. 
Scottish manners, Scottish dialect, and Scottish characters 
of note, being those with which the Author was most 
intimately and familiarly acquainted, were the ground- 
work upon which he had hitherto relied for giving effect 
to his narrative. It was, however, obvious that this kind 
of interest must in the end occasion a degree of sameness 
and repetition, if exclusively resorted to, and that the 
reader was likely at length to adopt the language of 
Edwin, in Parnell’s Tale: — 

“ Reverse the spell,” he cries, 

“ And let it fairly now suffice. 

The gambol has been shown.” 

Nothing can be more dangerous for the fame of a pro- 
fessor of the fine arts than to permit (if he can possibly 
prevent it) the character of a mannerist to be attached 
to him, or that he should be supposed capable of success 
only in a particular and limited style. The public are, in 
general, very ready to adopt the opinion that he who has 
pleased them in one peculiar mode of composition is, by 
means of that very talent, rendered incapable of ventur- 
ing upon other subjects. The effect of this disinclination. 


INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 


on the part of the public, towards the artificers of their 
pleasures, when they attempt to enlarge their means of 
amusing, may be seen in the censures usually passed bjt 
vulgar criticism upon actors or artists who venture to 
change the character of their efforts, that, in so doing, 
they may enlarge the scale of their art. 

There is some justice in this opinion, as there always is 
in such as attain general currency. It may often happen 
on the stage, that an actor, by possessing in a preeminent 
degree the external qualities necessary to give effect to 
comedy, may be deprived of the right to aspire to tragic 
excellence; and in painting or literary composition, an 
artist or poet may be master exclusively of modes of 
thought and powers of expression which confine him to a 
single course of subjects. But much more frequently the 
same capacity which carries a man to popularity in one 
department will obtain for him success in another, and 
that must be more particularly the case in literary com- 
position than either in acting or painting, because the 
adventurer in that department is not impeded in his ex- 
ertions by any peculiarity of features, or conformation of 
person, proper for particular parts, or, by any peculiar 
mechanical habits of using the pencil, limited to a par- 
ticular class of subjects. 

Whether this reasoning be correct or otherwise, the 
present Author felt that, in confining himself to subjects 
purely Scottish, he was not only likely to weary out the 
indulgence of his readers, but also greatly to limit his own 
power of affording them pleasure. In a highly polished 
country, where so much genius is monthly employed in 
catering for public amusement, a fresh topic, such as he 
had himself had the happiness to light upon, is the 
untasted spring of the desert: 

Men bless their stars and call it luxury. 

But when men and horses, cattle, camels, and dromedaries 
have poached the spring into mud, it becomes loathsome to 


INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 


vii 

those who at first drank of it with rapture; and he who 
had the merit of discovering it, if he would preserve his 
reputation with the tribe, must display his talents by a 
fresh discovery of untasted fountains. 

If the author, who finds himself limited to a particular 
class of subjects, endeavours to sustain his reputation by 
striving to add a novelty of attraction to themes of the 
same character which have been formerly successful under 
his management, there are manifest reasons why, after a 
certain point, he is likely to fail. If the mine be not 
wrought out, the strength and capacity of the miner be- 
come necessarily exhausted. If he closely imitates the 
narratives which he has before rendered successful, he is 
doomed to “wonder that they please no more.” If he 
struggles to take a different view of the same class of sub- 
jects, he speedily discovers that what is obvious, grace- 
ful, and natural has been exhausted; and, in order to 
obtain the indispensable charm of novelty, he is forced 
upon caricature, and, to avoid being trite, must become 
extravagant. 

It is not, perhaps, necessary to enumerate so many 
reasons why the Author of the Scottish Novels, as they 
were then exclusively termed, should be desirous to make 
an experiment on a subject purely English. It was his 
purpose, at the same time, to have rendered the experi- 
ment as complete as possible, by bringing the intended 
work before the public as the effort of a new candidate for 
their favour, in order that no degree of prejudice, whether 
favourable or the reverse, might attach to it, as a new pro- 
duction of the x\uthor of Waverley ; but this intention was 
afterwards departed from, for reasons to be hereafter 
mentioned. 

The period of the narrative adopted was the reign of 
Richard I., not only as abounding with characters whose 
very names were sure to attract general attention, but as 
affording a striking contrast betwixt the Saxons, by whom 
the soil was cultivated, and the Normans, who still reigned 


INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 


viii 

in it as conquerors, reluctant to mix with the vanquished, 
or acknowledge themselves of the same stock. The idea 
of this contrast was taken from the ingenious and unfortu- 
nate Logan’s tragedy of Runnamede, in which, about the 
same period of history, the Author had seen the Saxon 
and Norman barons opposed to each other on different 
sides of the stage. He does not recollect that there was 
any attempt to contrast the two races in their habits and 
sentiments; and indeed it was obvious that history was 
violated by introducing the Saxons still existing as a high- 
minded and martial race of nobles. 

They did, however, survive as a people, and some of 
the ancient Saxon families possessed wealth and power, 
although they were exceptions to the humble condition of 
the race in general. It seemed to the Author that the 
existence of the two races in the same country, the van- 
quished distinguished by their plain, homely, blunt 
manners, and the free spirit infused by their ancient 
institutions and laws; the victors, by the high spirit of 
military fame, personal adventure, and whatever could 
distinguish them as the flower of chivalry, might, inter- 
mixed with other characters belonging to the same time 
and country, interest the reader by the contrast, if the 
Author should not fail on his part. 

Scotland, however, had been of late used so exclusively 
as the scene of what is called historical romance, that the 
preliminary letter of Mr. Laurence Templeton became in 
some measure necessary. To this, as to an Introduction, 
the reader is referred, as expressing the Author’s purpose 
and opinions in undertaking this species of composition, 
under the necessary reservation, that he is far from think- 
ing he has attained the point at which he aimed. 

It is scarcely necessary to add, that there was no idea or 
wish to pass off the supposed Mr. Templeton as a real 
person. But a kind of continuation of the Tales of my 
Landlord had been recently attempted by a stranger, and 
it was supposed this Dedicatory Epistle might pass for 


INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 


IX 


some imitation of the same kind, and thus, putting in- 
quirers upon a false scent, induce them to believe they 
had before them the work of some new candidate for their 
favour. 

After a considerable part of the work had been finished 
and printed, the publishers, who pretended to discern in it 
a germ of popularity, remonstrated strenuously against its 
appearing as an absolutely anonymous production, and 
contended that it should have the advantage of being 
announced as by the Author of Waverley. The Author 
did not make any obstinate opposition, for he began to be 
of opinion with Dr. Wheeler, in Miss Edgeworth’s excel- 
lent tale of Manoeuvring y that “trick upon trick” might 
be too much for the patience of an indulgent public, and 
might be reasonably considered as trifling with their 
favour. 

The book, therefore, appeared as an avowed continua- 
tion of the Waverley Novels; and it would be ungrateful 
not to acknowledge that it met with the same favourable 
reception as its predecessors. 

Such annotations as may be useful to assist the reader 
in comprehending the characters of the Jew, the Templar, 
the captain of the mercenaries, or Free Companions, as 
they were called, and others proper to the period, are 
added, but with a sparing hand, since sufiicient informa- 
tion on these subjects is to be found in general history. 

An incident in the tale, which had the good fortune to 
find favour in the eyes of many readers, is more directly 
borrowed from the stores of old romance. I mean the 
meeting of the King with Friar Tuck at the cell of that 
buxom hermit. The general tone of the story belongs to 
all ranks and all countries, which emulate each other in 
describing the rambles of a disguised sovereign, who, 
going in search of information or amusement into the 
lower ranks of life, meets with adventures diverting to the 
reader or hearer, from the contrast betwixt the mon- 
arch’s outward appearance and his real character. The 


X 


INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 


Eastern tale-teller has for his theme the disguised expedi- 
tions of Haroun Alraschid with his faithful attendants, 
Mesrour and Giafar, through the midnight streets of 
Bagdad; and Scottish tradition dwells upon the similar 
exploits of James V., distinguished during such excursions 
by the travelling name of the Goodman of Ballengeigh, 
as the Commander of the Faithful, when he desired to be 
incognito, was known by that of II Bondocani. The 
French minstrels are not silent on so popular a theme. 
There must have been a Norman original of the Scottish 
metrical romance of Rauj Colziar, in which Charlemagne 
is introduced as the unknown guest of a charcoal-man. 
It seems to have been the original of other poems of the 
kind. 

In merry England there is no end of popular ballads on 
this theme. The poem of John the Reeve, or Steward, 
mentioned by Bishop Percy, in the Reliques of English 
Poetry is said to have turned on such an incident; and we 
have, besides, the King and the Tanner of Tamworth, the 
King and the Miller of Mansfield, and others on the same 
topic. But the peculiar tale of this nature to which the 
Author of Ivanhoe has to acknowledge an obligation is 
more ancient by two centuries than any of these last 
mentioned. 

It was first communicated to the public in that curious 
record of ancient literature which has been accumulated 
by the combined exertions of Sir Egerton Brydges and Mr. 
Hazlewood, in the periodical work entitled the British 
Bibliographer. From thence it has been transferred by 
the Reverend Charles Henry Hartshorne, M. A., editor of 
a very curious volume, entitled Ancient Metrical Tales, 
printed chiefly from Original Sources, 18i29. Mr. Harts- 
horne gives no other authority for the present fragment, 
except the article in the Bibliographer, where it is entitled 
the Kyng and the Hermite. A short abstract of its con- 
tents will show its similarity to the meeting of King 
Richard and Friar Tuck. 


INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 


XI 


King Edward (we are not told which among the 
monarchs of that name, but, from his temper and habits, 
we may suppose Edward IV.) sets forth with his court to a 
gallant hunting-match in Sherwood Forest, in which, as is 
not unusual for princes in romance, he falls in with a deer 
of extraordinary size and swiftness, and pursues it closely, 
till he has outstripped his whole retinue, tired out hounds 
and horse, and finds himself alone under the gloom of an 
extensive forest, upon which night is descending. Under 
the apprehensions natural to a situation so uncomfort- 
able, the king recollects that he has heard how poor men, 
when apprehensive of a bad night’s lodging, pray to St. 
Julian, who, in the Romish calendar, stands quarter- 
master-general to all forlorn travellers that render him 
due homage. Edward puts up his orisons accordingly, 
and by the guidance, doubtless, of the good saint, reaches 
a small path, conducting him to a chapel in the forest, hav- 
ing a hermit’s cell in its close vicinity. The king hears 
the reverend man, with a companion of his solitude, telling 
his beads within, and meekly requests of him quarters for 
the night. “I have no accommodation for such a lord as 
ye be,” said the hermit. “I live here in the wilderness 
upon roots and rinds, and may not receive into my dwell- 
ing even the poorest wretch that lives, unless it were to save 
his life.” The king inquires the way to the next town, 
and, understanding it is by a road which he cannot find 
without difficulty, even if he had daylight to befriend him, 
he declares that, with or without the hermit’s consent, he 
is determined to be his guest that night. He is admitted 
accordingly, not without a hint from the recluse that, were 
he himself out of his priestly weeds, he would care little for 
his threats of using violence, and that he gives way to him 
not out of intimidation, but simply to avoid scandal. 

The king is admitted into the cell; two bundles of 
straw are shaken down for his accommodation, and he 
comforts himself that he is now under shelter, and that 

A night will soon be gone. 


INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 


xii 

Other wants, however, arise. The guest becomes 
clamorous for supper, observing, 

“For certainly, as I you say, 

I ne had never so sorry a day. 

That I ne had a merry night.” 

But this indication of his taste for good cheer, joined to 
the annunciation of his being a follower of the court, who 
had lost himself at the great hunting-match, cannot induce 
the niggard hermit to produce better fare than bread and 
cheese, for which his guest showed little appetite, and 
“thin drink,” which was even less acceptable. At length 
the king presses his host on a point to which he had more 
than once alluded, without obtaining a satisfactory reply: 

Then said the king, ‘ ‘ By Godys grace. 

Thou wert in a merry place. 

To shoot should thou lere; 

When the foresters go to rest, 

Sometyme thou might have of the best. 

All of the wild deer; 

I wold hold it for no scathe, 

Though thou hadst bow and arrows baith, 

Althoff thou best a frere.” 


The hermit, in return, expresses his apprehension that 
his guest means to drag him into some confession of 
offence against the forest laws, which, being betrayed to 
the king, might cost him his life. Edward answers by 
fresh assurances of secrecy, and again urges on him the 
necessity of procuring some venison. The hermit replies, 
by once more insisting on the duties incumbent upon him 
as a churchman, and continues to affirm himself free from 
all such breaches of order ; 

‘ ‘ Many day I have here been, 

And flesh-meat I eat never, 

But milk of the kve; 


INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 


xiii 

It would seem that the manuscript is here imperfect, 
for we do not find the reasons which finally induce the 
curtal friar to amend the king’s cheer. But, acknowledg- 
ing his guest to be such a “good fellow” as has seldom 
graced his board, the holy man at length produces the 
best his cell affords. Two candles are placed on a table, 
white bread and baked pasties are displayed by the light, 
besides choice of venison, both salt and fresh, from which 
they select collops. “I might have eaten my bread dry,” 
said the king, “had I not pressed thee on the score of 
archery, but now have I dined like a prince — if we had 
but drink enow.” 

This too is afforded by the hospitable anchorite, who 
despatches an assistant to fetch a pot of four gallons from 
a secret corner near his bed, and the whole three set in to 
serious drinking. This amusement is superintended by 
the friar, according to the recurrence of certain fustian 
words, to be repeated by every compotator in turn before 
he drank — a species of high jinks, as it were, by which 
they regulated their potations, as toasts were given in 
latter times. The one toper says “Fusty bandias,” to 
which the other is obliged to reply, “Strike pantnere,” 
and the friar passes many jests on the king’s want of 
memory, who sometimes forgets the words of action. 
The night is spent in this jolly pastime. Before his 
departure in the morning, the king invites his reverend 
host to court, promises, at least, to requite his hospitality, 
and expresses himself much pleased with his entertain- 
ment. The jolly hermit at length agrees to venture 
thither, and to inquire for Jack Fletcher, which is the 
name assumed by the king. After the hermit has shown 
Edward some feats of archery, the joyous pair separate. 
The king rides home, and rejoins his retinue. As the ro- 
mance is imperfect, we are not acquainted how the dis- 
covery takes place; but it is probably much in the same 
manner as in other narratives turning on the same sub- 
ject, where the host, apprehensive of death for having 


XIV 


INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 


trespassed on the respect due to his sovereign, while 
incognito, is agreeably surprised by receiving honours 
and reward. 

In Mr. Hartshorne’s collection, there is a romance on 
the same foundation, called King Edward and the Shep- 
herdy which, considered as illustrating manners, is still 
more curious than The King and the Hermit; but it is 
foreign to the present purpose. The reader has here the 
original legend from which the incident in the romance is 
derived; and the identifying the irregular eremite with 
the Friar Tuck of Robin Hood’s story was an obvious 
expedient. 

The name of Ivanhoe was suggested by an old rhyme. 
All novelists have had occasion at some time or other to 
wish with Falstaff that they knew where a commodity of 
good names was to be had. On such an occasion the 
Author chanced to call to memory a rhjune recording 
three names of the manors forfeited by the ancestor of 
the celebrated Hampden, for striking the Black Prince a 
blow with his racket, when they quarrelled at tennis : 

Tring, Wing, and Ivanhoe, 

For striking of a blow, 

Hampden did forego. 

And glad he could escape so. 

The word suited the Author’s purpose in two material 
respects — for, first, it had an ancient English sound ; and 
secondly, it conveyed no indication whatever of the nature 
of the story. He presumes to hold this last quality to be 
of no small importance. What is called a taking title 
serves the direct interest of the bookseller or publisher, 
who by this means sometimes sells an edition while it is 
yet passing the press. But if the author permits an over 
degree of attention to be drawn to his work ere it has 
appeared, he places himself in the embarrassing condition 
of having excited a degree of expectation which, if he 
proves unable to satisfy, is an error fatal to his literary 


INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 


XV 


reputation. Besides, when we meet such a title as the 
Gunpowder Plot, or any other connected with general 
history, each reader, before he has seen the book, has 
formed to himself some particular idea of the sort of 
manner in which the story is to be conducted, and the 
nature of the amusement which he is to derive from it. 
In this he is probably disappointed, and in that case may 
be naturally disposed to visit upon the author or the work 
the unpleasant feelings thus excited. In such a case the 
literary adventurer is censured, not for having missed the 
mark at which he himself aimed, but for not having shot 
off his shaft in a direction he never thought of. 

On the footing of unreserved communication which the 
Author has established with the reader, he may here add 
the trifling circumstance, that a roll of Norman warriors, 
occurring in the Auchinleck Manuscript, gave him the 
formidable name of Front-de-Ba*uf. 

Ivanhoe was highly successful upon its appearance, and 
may be said to have procured for its Author the freedom 
of the rules, since he has ever since been permitted to 
exercise his powers of fictitious composition in England 
as well as Scotland. 

The character of the fair Jewess found so much favour 
in the eyes of some fair readers, that the writer was 
censured because, when arranging the fates of the charac- 
ters of the drama, he had not assigned the hand of Wilfred 
to Rebecca, rather than the less interesting Rowena. 
But, not to mention that the prejudices of the age rendered 
such a union almost impossible, the Author may, in pass- 
ing, observe, that he thinks a character of a highly virtu- 
ous and lofty stamp is degraded rather than exalted by 
an attempt to reward virtue with temporal prosperity. 
Such is not the recompense which Providence has deemed 
worthy of suffering merit, and it is a dangerous and fatal 
doctrine to teach young persons, the most common 
readers of romance, that rectitude of conduct and of 
principle are either naturally allied with or adequately 


XVI 


INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 


rewarded by the gratification of our passions, or attain- 
ment of our wishes. In a word, if a virtuous and self- 
denied character is dismissed with temporal wealth, 
greatness, rank, or the indulgence of such a rashly-formed 
or ill-assorted passion as that of Rebecca for Ivanhoe, 
the reader will be apt to say, “Verily virtue has had its 
reward.” But a glance on the great picture of life will 
show that the duties of self-denial, and the sacrifice of 
passion to principle, are seldom thus remunerated; and 
that the internal consciousness of their high-minded dis- 
charge of duty produces on their own reflections a more 
adequate recompense, in the form of that peace which 
the world cannot give or take away. 

Abbotsford, September 1830. 


DEDICATORY EPISTLE 


TO 


THE REV. DR. DRYASDUST, F.A.S. 


Residing at the Castle Gate, York. 


Much esteemed and dear sir, 

I T is scarcely necessary to mention the various and con- 
curring reasons which induce me to place your name 
at the head of the following work. Yet the chief of 
these reasons may perhaps be refuted by the imperfections 
of the performance. Could I have hoped to render it 
worthy of your patronage, the public would at once have 
seen the propriety of inscribing a work designed to illus- 
trate the domestic antiquities of England, and particularly 
of our Saxon forefathers, to the learned author of the 
Essays upon the Horn of King Ulphus, and on the Lands 
bestowed by him upon the patrimony of St. Peter. I am 
conscious, however, that the slight, unsatisfactory, and 
trivial manner in which the result of my antiquarian re- 
searches has been recorded in the following pages takes 
the work from under that class which bears the proud 
motto, Detur digniori. On the contrary, I fear I shall 
incur the censure of presumption in placing the venerable 
name of Dr. Jonas Dryasdust at the head of a publication 
which the more grave antiquary will perhaps class with 
the idle novels and romances of the day. I am anxious 
to vindicate myself from such a charge; for, although I 
might trust to your friendship for an apology in your eyes, 
yet I would not willingly stand convicted in those of the 


xviii INTRODUCTION TO D'ANHOE 

public of so grave a crime as my fears lead me to antici- 
pate mv being charged with. 

I must therefore remind you, that when we first talked 
over together that class of productions, in one of which the 
private and family affairs of your learned northern friend, 
Mr. Oldbuck of Monkbarns, were so unjustifiably ex- 
posed to the public, some discussion occurred between us 
concerning the cause of the popularity these works have 
attained in this idle age, which, whatever other merit they 
possess, must be admitted to be hastily written, and in 
violation of every rule assigned to the epopeia. It seemed 
then to be your opinion that the charm lay entirely in the 
art with which the unknown author had availed himself, 
like a second M’Pherson, of the antiquarian stores which 
lay scattered around him, supplying his own indolence or 
poverty of invention by the incidents which had actually 
taken place in his country at no distant period, by intro- 
ducing real characters, and scarcely suppressing real 
names. It was not above sixty or seventy years, you 
observed, since the whole north of Scotland was under a 
state of government nearly as simple and as patriarchal 
as those of our good allies the Mohawks and Iroquois. 
Admitting that the Author cannot himself be supposed 
to have witnessed those times, he must have lived, you 
observed, among people who had acted and suffered in 
them; and even within these thirty years, such an infinite 
change has taken place in the manners of Scotland that 
men look back upon the habits of society proper to their 
immediate ancestors as we do on those of the reign of 
Queen Anne, or even the period of the Revolution. 
Having thus materials of every kind lying strewed around 
him, there was little, you observed, to embarrass the 
Author, but the difficulty of choice. It was no wonder, 
therefore, that, having begun to work a mine so plentiful, 
he should have derived from his works fully more credit 
and profit than the facility of his labours merited. 

Admitting (as I could not deny) the general truth of 


INTRODUCTION TO WANHOE 


XIX 


these conclusions, I cannot but think it strange that no 
attempt has been made to excite an interest for the tradi- 
tions and manners of Old England, similar to that which 
has been obtained in behalf of those of our poorer and less 
celebrated neighbours. The Kendal green, though its 
date is more ancient, ought surely to be as dear to our 
feelings as the variegated tartans of the north. The 
name of Robin Hood, if duly conjured wdth, should raise 
a spirit as soon as that of Rob Roy; and the patriots 
of England deserve no less their renown in our modern 
circles than the Bruces and Wallaces of Caledonia. If 
the scenery of the south be less romantic and sublime 
than that of the northern mountains, it must be allowed 
to possess in the same proportion superior softness and 
beauty; and, upon the whole, we feel ourselves entitled 
to exclaim with the patriotic Syrian — “Are not Pharpar 
and Abana, rivers of Damascus, better than all the rivers 
of Israel.^” 

Your objections to such an attempt, my dear Doctor, 
were, you may remember, twofold. You insisted upon 
the advantages which the Scotsman possessed, from the 
very recent existence of that state of society in which his 
scene was to be laid. Many now alive, you remarked, 
well remembered persons who had not only seen the cele- 
brated Roy M’ Gregor, but had feasted, and even fought, 
with him. All those minute circumstances belonging to 
private life and domestic character, all that gives veri- 
similitude to a narrative and individuality to the persons 
introduced, is still known and remembered in Scotland; 
whereas in England civilization has been so long com- 
plete, that our ideas of our ancestors are only to be gleaned 
from musty records and chronicles, the authors of which 
seem perversely to have conspired to suppress in their 
narratives all interesting details, in order to find room for 
flowers of monkish eloquence, or trite reflections upon 
morals. To match an English and a Scottish author in 
the rival task of embodying and reviving the traditions 


XX 


INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 


of their respective countries would be, you alleged, in 
the highest degree unequal and unjust. The Scottish 
magician, you said, was, like Lucan’s witch, at liberty to 
walk over the recent field of battle, and to select for the 
subject of resuscitation by his sorceries a body whose 
limbs had recently quivered with existence, and whose 
throat had but just uttered the last note of agony. Such 
a subject even the powerful Erichtho was compelled to 
select, as alone capable of being reanimated even by her 
potent magic — 

Gelidas leto scrutata medullas, 

Pulmonis rigidi stantes sine ^allne^e fibras 
Invenit, et vocem defuncto in corpore quserit. 


The English author, on the other hand, without supposing 
him less of a conjuror than the Northern Warlock, can, 
you observed, only have the liberty of selecting his subject 
amidst the dust of antiquity, where nothing was to be 
found but dry, sapless, mouldering, and disjointed bones, 
such as those which filled the valley of Jehoshaphat. You 
expressed, besides, your apprehension that the unpatriotic 
prejudices of my countrymen would not allow fair play to 
such a work as that of which I endeavoured to demon- 
strate the probable success. And this, you said, was not 
entirely owing to the more general prejudice in favour of 
that which is foreign, but that it rested partly upon im- 
probabilities, arising out of the circumstances in which 
the English reader is placed. If you describe to him a set 
of wild manners, and a state of primitive society, existing 
in the Highlands of Scotland, he is much disposed to ac- 
quiesce in the truth of what is asserted. And reason good. 
If he be of the ordinary class of readers, he has either 
never seen those remote districts at all, or he has wandered 
through those desolate regions in the course of a summer 
tour, eating bad dinners, sleeping on truckle beds, stalk- 
ing from desolation to desolation, and fully prepared to 
believe the strangest things that could be told him of a 


INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 


XXI 


people wild and extra\’agant enough to be attached to 
scenery so extraordinary. But the same worthy person, 
when placed in his own snug parlour, and surrounded by 
all the comforts of an Englishman’s fireside, is not half so 
much disposed to believe that his own ancestors led a very 
different life from himself ; that the shattered tower which 
now forms a vista from his window once held a baron who 
would have hung him up at his own door without any 
form of trial; that the hinds, by whom his little pet farm 
is managed, a few centuries ago would have been his 
slaves ; and that the complete influence of feudal tyranny 
once extended over the neighbouring village, where the 
attorney is now a man of more importance than the lord 
of the manor. 

While I own the force of these objections, I must con- 
fess, at the same time, that they do not appear to me to be 
altogether insurmountable. The scantiness of materials 
is indeed a formidable difficulty; but no one knows better 
than Dr. Dryasdust that to those deeply read in antiquity 
hints concerning the private life of our ancestors lie 
scattered through the pages of our various historians, 
bearing, indeed, a slender proportion to the other matters 
of which they treat, but still, when collected together, 
sufficient to throw considerable light upon the vie prime of 
our forefathers; indeed, I am convinced that, however I 
myself may fail in the ensuing attempt, yet, with more 
labour in collecting, or more skill in using, the materials 
within his reach, illustrated as they have been by the la- 
bours of Dr. Henry, of the late Mr. Strutt, and, above all, 
of Mr. Sharon Turner, an abler hand would have been 
successful; and therefore I protest, beforehand, against 
any argument which may be founded on the failure of the 
present experiment. 

On the other hand, I have already said that, if anything 
like a true picture of old English manners could be drawn, 
I would trust to the good nature and good sense of my 
countrymen for ensuring its favourable reception. 


xxii INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 


Having thus replied, to the best of my power, to the 
first class of your objections, or at least having shown my 
resolution to overleap the barriers which your prudence 
has raised, I will be brief in noticing that which is more 
peculiar to myself. It seemed to be your opinion that the 
very ofiice of an antiquary, employed in grave, and, as 
the vulgar will sometimes allege, in toilsome and minute 
research, must be considered as incapacitating him from 
successfully compounding a tale of this sort. But permit 
me to say, my dear Doctor, that this objection is rather 
formal than substantial. It is true, that such slighter 
compositions might not suit the severer genius of our 
friend Mr. Oldbuck. Yet Horace Walpole wrote a gob- 
lin tale which has thrilled through many a bosom ; and 
George Ellis could transfer all the playful fascination of a 
humour as delightful as it was uncommon into his Abridg- 
ment of the Ancient Metrical Romances. So that, how- 
ever I may have occasion to rue my present audacity, I 
have at least the most respectable precedents in my 
favour. 

Still, the severer antiquary may think that, by thus 
intermingling fiction with truth, I am polluting the well of 
history with modern inventions, and impressing upon the 
rising generation false ideas of the age which I describe. 
I cannol but in some sense admit the force of this reason- 
ing, which I yet hope to traverse by the following con- 
siderations. 

It is true, that I neither can nor do pretend to the 
observation of complete accuracy, even in matters of 
outward costume, much less in the more important points 
of language and manners. But the same motive which 
prevents my writing the dialogue of the piece in Anglo- 
Saxon or in Norman-French, and which prohibits my 
sending forth to the public this essay printed with the 
types of Caxton or Wynken de Worde, prevents my at- 
tempting to confine myself within the limits of the period 
in which my story is laid. It is necessary, for exciting 


INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE xxiii 


interest of any kind, that the subject assumed should be, 
as it were, translated into the manners, as well as the 
language, of the age we live in. No fascination has ever 
been attached to Oriental literature equal to that produced 
by Mr. Galland’s first translation of the Arabian Tales ; 
in which, retaining on the one hand the splendour of 
Eastern costume, and on the other the wildness of 
Eastern fiction, he mixed these with just so much ordinary 
feeling and expression as rendered them interesting and 
intelligible, while he abridged the long-winded narratives, 
curtailed the monotonous reflections, and rejected the 
endless repetitions of the Arabian original. The tales, 
therefore, though less purely Oriental than in their first 
concoction, were eminently better fitted for the European 
market, and obtained an unrivalled degree of public fa- 
vour, which they certainly would never have gained had 
not the manners and style been in some degree familiar- 
ized to the feelings and habits of the western reader. 

In point of justice, therefore, to the multitudes who will, 
I trust, devour this book with avidity, I have so far ex- 
plained our ancient manners in modern language, and so 
far detailed the characters and sentiments of my persons, 
that the modern reader will not find himself, I should 
hope, much trammelled by the repulsive dryness of mere 
antiquity. In this, I respectfully contend, I have in no 
respect exceeded the fair license due to the author of a 
fictitious composition. The late ingenious Mr. Strutt, in 
his romance of Queenhoo Hall, acted upon another prin- 
ciple; and in distinguishing between what was ancient 
and modern, forgot, as it appears to me, that extensive 
neutral ground, the large proportion, that is, of manners 
and sentiments which are common to us and to our 
ancestors, having been handed down unaltered from 
them to us, or which, arising out of the principles of our 
common nature, must have existed alike in either state of 
society. In this manner, a man of talent, and of great 
antiquarian erudition, limited the popularity of his work 


xxiv INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 

by excluding from it everything which was not sufficiently 
obsolete to be altogether forgotten and unintelligible. 

The license which I would here vindicate is so necessary 
to the execution of my plan, that I will crave your patience 
while I illustrate my argument a little farther. 

He who first opens Chaucer, or any other ancient poet, 
is so much struck with the obsolete spelling, multiplied 
consonants, and antiquated appearance of the language, 
that he is apt to lay the work down in despair, as encrusted 
too deep with the rust of antiquity to permit his judging of 
its merits or tasting its beauties. But if some intelligent 
and accomplished friend points out to him that the diffi- 
culties by which he is startled are more in appearance 
than reality, if, by reading aloud to him, or by reducing 
the ordinary words to the modern orthography, he satisfies 
his proselyte that only about one-tenth part of the words 
employed are in fact obsolete, the novice may be easily 
persuaded to approach the “well of English undefiled,” 
with the certainty that a slender degree of patience will 
enable him to enjoy both the humour and the pathos with 
which old Geoffrey delighted the age of Cressy and of 
Poictiers. 

To pursue this a little farther. If our neophyte, strong 
in the new-born love of antiquity, were to undertake to 
imitate what he had learnt to admire, it must be allowed 
he would act very injudiciously if he were to select from 
the glossary the obsolete words which it contains, and 
employ those, exclusive of all phrases and vocables re- 
tained in modern days. This was the error of the unfor- 
tunate Chatterton. In order to give his language the 
appearance of antiquity, he rejected every word that was 
modern, and produced a dialect entirely different from 
any that had ever been spoken in Great Britain. He who 
would imitate an ancient language with success must 
attend rather to its grammatical character, turn of expres- 
sion, and mode of arrangement, than labour to collect 
extraordinary and antiquated terms, which, as I have 


INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 


XXV 


already averred, do not in ancient authors approach the 
number of words still in use, though perhaps somewhat 
altered in sense and spelling, in the proportion of one 
to ten. 

What I have applied to language, is still more justly 
applicable to sentiments and manners. The passions, 
the sources from which these must spring in all their 
modifications, are generally the same in all ranks and 
conditions, all countries and ages; and it follows as a 
matter of course that the opinions, habits of thinking, 
and actions, however influenced by the peculiar state of 
society, must still, upon the whole, bear a strong resem- 
blance to each other. Our ancestors were not more 
distinct from us, surely, than Jews are from Christians; 
they had “eyes, hands, organs, dimensions, senses, af- 
fections, passions”; were “fed with the same food, hurt 
with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, 
warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer,” 
as ourselves. The tenor, therefore, of their affections 
and feelings must have borne the same general propor- 
tion to our own. 

It follows, therefore, that of the materials which an 
author has to use in a romance, or fictitious composition, 
such as I have ventured to attempt, he will find that a 
great proportion, both of language and manners, is as 
proper to the present time as to those in which he has 
laid his time of action. The freedom of choice which this 
allows him is therefore much greater, and the difficulty 
of his task much more diminished, than at first appears. 
To take an illustration from a sister art, the antiquarian 
details may be said to represent the peculiar features of 
a landscape under delineation of the pencil. His feudal 
tower must arise in due majesty; the figures which he 
introduces must have the costume and character of their 
age; the piece must represent the peculiar features of the 
scene which he has chosen for his subject, with all its 
appropriate elevation of rock, or precipitate descent of 


xxvi INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 


cataract. His general colouring, too, must be copied 
from Nature. The sky must be clouded or serene, 
according to the climate, and the general tints must be 
those which prevail in a natural landscape. So far the 
painter is bound down by the rules of his art to a precise 
imitation of the features of Nature; but it is not required 
that he should descend to copy all her more minute 
features, or represent with absolute exactness the very 
herbs, flowers, and trees with which the spot is decorated. 
These, as well as all the more minute points of light 
and shadow, are attributes proper to scenery in general, 
natural to each situation, and subject to the artist’s dis- 
posal, as his taste or pleasure may dictate. 

It is true, that this license is confined in either case 
within legitimate bounds. The painter must introduce 
no ornament inconsistent with the climate or country of 
his landscape; he must not plant cypress trees upon Inch 
Merrin, or Scots firs among the ruins of Persepolis; and 
the author lies under a corresponding restraint. How- 
ever far he may venture in a more full detail of passions 
and feelings than is to be found in the ancient composi- 
tions which he imitates, he must introduce nothing incon- 
sistent with the manners of the age. His knights, squires, 
grooms, and yeomen may be more fully drawn than in 
the hard, dry delineations of an ancient illuminated 
manuscript; but the character and costume of the age 
must remain inviolate: they must be the same figures, 
drawn by a better pencil, or, to speak more modestly, 
executed in an age when the principles of art were better 
understood. His language must not be exclusively ob- 
solete and unintelligible ; but he should admit, if possible, 
no word or turn of phraseology betraying an origin 
directly modern. It is one thing to make use of the 
language and sentiments which are common to ourselves 
and our forefathers, and it is another to invest them with 
the sentiments and dialect exclusively proper to their 
descendants. 


INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE xxvii 


This, my dear friend, I have found the most difficult 
part of my task; and, to speak frankly, I hardly expect to 
satisfy your less partial judgment, and more extensive 
knowledge of such subjects, since I have hardly been able 
to please my own. 

I am conscious that I shall be found still more faulty in 
the tone of keeping and costume, by those who may be 
disposed rigidly to examine my Tale, with reference to the 
manners or the exact period in which my actors flourished. 
It may be, that I have introduced little which can posi- 
tively be termed modern; but, on the other hand, it is 
extremely probable that I may have confused the manners 
of two or three centuries, and introduced, during the reign 
of Richard the First, circumstances appropriated to a pe- 
riod either considerably earlier or a good deal later than 
that era. It is my comfort, that errors of this kind will 
escape the general class of readers, and that I may share 
in the ill-deserved applause of those architects who, in 
their modern Gothic, do not hesitate to introduce, without 
rule or method, ornaments proper to different styles and 
to different periods of the art. Those, whose extensive 
researches have given them the means of judging my 
backslidings with more severity, will probably be lenient 
in proportion to their knowledge of the difficulty of my 
task. My honest and neglected friend, Ingulphus, has 
furnished me with many a valuable hint; but the light 
afforded by the Monk of Croydon, and Geoffrey de Vin- 
sauff, is dimmed by such a conglomeration of uninterest- 
ing and unintelligible matter, that we gladly fly for relief 
to the delightful pages of the gallant Froissart, although 
he flourished at a period so much more remote from the 
date of my history. If, therefore, my dear friend, you 
have generosity enough to pardon the presumptuous 
attempt to frame for myself a minstrel coronet, partly out 
of the pearls of pure antiquity, and partly from the 
Bristol stones and paste with which I have endeavoured 
to imitate them, I am convinced your opinion of the 


xxviii INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE 

difficulty of the task will reconcile you to the imperfect 
manner of its execution. 

Of my materials I have but little to say. They may be 
chiefly found in the singular Anglo-Norman MS. which 
Sir Arthur Wardour preserves with such jealous care in 
the third drawer of his oaken cabinet, scarcely allowing 
any one to touch it, and being himself not able to read one 
syllable of its contents. I should never have got his con- 
sent, on my visit to Scotland, to read in those precious 
pages for so many hours, had I not promised to designate 
it by some emphatic mode of printing, as OTfaiDOUr 
^aUUfiiCnpt; giving it, thereby, an individuality as im- 
portant as the Bannatyne MS., the Auchinleck MS., and 
any other monument of the patience of a Gothic scrivener. 
I have sent, for your private consideration, a list of the 
contents of this curious piece, which I shall perhaps sub- 
join, with your approbation, to the third volume of my 
Tale, in case the printer’s devil should continue impatient 
for copy, when the whole of my narrative has been 
imposed. 

Adieu, my dear friend; I have said enough to explain, 
if not to vindicate, the attempt which I have made, and 
which, in spite of your doubts and my own incapacity, I 
am still willing to believe has not been altogether made in 
vain. 

I hope you are now well recovered from your spring fit 
of the gout, and shall be happy if the advice of your 
learned physician should recommend a tour to these parts. 
Several curiosities have been lately dug up near the wall, 
as well as at the ancient station of Habitancum. Talking 
of the latter, I suppose you have long since heard the news 
that a sulky, churlish boor has destroyed the ancient 
statue, or rather bas-relief, popularly called Robin of 
Redesdale. It seems Robin’s fame attracted more visi- 
tants than was consistent with the growth of the heather, 
upon a moor worth a shilling an acre. Reverend as you 
write yourself, be revengeful for once, and pray with 


INTRODUCTION TO IVANHOE xxix 

me that he may be visited with such a fit of the stone as 
if he had all the fragments of poor Robin in that region 
of his viscera where the disease holds its seat. Tell this 
not in Gath, lest the Scots rejoice that they have at length 
found a parallel instance among their neighbours to that 
barbarous deed which demolished Arthur’s Oven. But 
there is no end to lamentation, when we betake ourselves 
to such subjects. My respectful compliments attend 
Miss Dryasdust; I endeavoured to match the spectacles 
agreeable to her commission, during my late journey to 
London, and hope she has received them safe, and found 
them satisfactory. I send this by the blind carrier, so 
that probably it may be some time upon its journey. The 
last news which I hear from Edinburgh is, that the gentle- 
man who fills the situation of Secretary to the Society of 
Antiquaries of Scotland is the best amateur draftsman in 
that kingdom, and that much is expected from his skill 
and zeal in delineating those specimens of national an- 
tiquity which are either mouldering under the slow touch 
of time, or swept away by modern taste, with the same 
besom of destruction which John Knox used at the Ref- 
ormation. Once more adieu; vale tandem^ non immemor 
mei. Believe me to be. 

Reverend, and very dear Sir, 

Your most faithful humble Servant, 

Laurence Templeton. 

Toppingwold, neab Egremont, 

Cumberland, Nov. 17 , 1817 . 




IVANHOE 


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IVANHOE 


CHAPTER I 

Thus communed these; while to their lowly dome 
The full-fed swine return’d w'ith evening home, 

Compell’d, reluctant, to the several sties. 

With din obstreperous and ungrateful cries. 

Pope’s Odyssey, 

I N that pleasant district of merry England which is 
watered by the river Don, there extended in ancient 
times a large forest, covering the greater part of the 
beautiful hills and valleys which lie between Sheffield and 
the pleasant town of Doncaster. The remains of this 
extensive wood are still to be seen at the noble seats of 
Wentworth, of Wharncliflfe Park, and around Rotherham. 
Here haunted of yore the fabulous Dragon of Wantley; 
here were fought many of the most desperate battles 
during the Civil Wars of the Roses; and here also flour- 
ished in ancient times those bands of gallant outlaws 
whose deeds have been rendered so popular in English 
song. 

Such being our chief scene, the date of our story refers 
to a period towards the end of the reign of Richard I., 
when his return from his long captivity had become an 
event rather wished than hoped for by his despairing 
subjects, who were in the meantime subjected to every 
species of subordinate oppression, ^he nobles, whose 
power had become exorbitant during the reign of Stephen, 
and whom the prudence of Henry the Second had scarce 
reduced into some degree of subjection to the crown, had 
now . resumed their ancient license in its utmost extent; 
despising the feeble interference of the English Council 

1 


2 


IVANHOE 


of State, fortifying their castles, increasing the number of 
their dependants, reducing all around them to a state of 
vassalage, and striving by every means in their power to 
place themselves each at the head of such forces as might 
enable him to make a figure in the national convulsions 
which appeared to. be impending. ^ 

The situation of the inferior gentry, or franklins, as 
they were called, who, by the law and spirit of the English 
constitution, were entitled to hold themselves independent 
of feudal tyranny, became now unusually precarious. If, 
as was most generally the case, they placed themselves 
under the protection of any of the petty kings in their 
vicinity, accepted of feudal oflSces in his household, or 
bound themselves, by mutual treaties of alliance and 
protection, to support him in his enterprises, they might 
indeed purchase temporary repose; but it must be with 
the sacrifice of that independence which was so dear to 
every English bosom, and at the certain hazard of being 
involved as a party in whatever rash expedition the am- 
bition of their protector might lead him to undertake. On 
the other hand, such and so multiplied were the means of 
vexation and oppression possessed by the great barons, 
that they never wanted the pretext, and seldom the will, 
to harass and pursue, even to the very edge of destruction, 
any of their less powerful neighbours who attempted to 
separate themselves from their authority, and to trust for 
their protection, during the dangers of the times, to their 
own inoffensive conduct and to the laws of the land. 

A circumstance which greatly tended to enhance the 
tyranny of the nobility and the sufferings of the inferior 
classes arose from the consequences of the Conquest by 
Duke William of Normandy. Four generations had not 
sufficed to blend the hostile blood of the Normans and 
Anglo-Saxons, or to unite, by common language and 
mutual interests, two hostile races, one of which still felt 
the elation of triumph, while the other groaned under 
all the consequences of defeat. The power had been 


IVANHOE 


3 


completely placed in the hands of the Norman nobility by 
the event of the battle of Hastings, and it had been used, 
as our histories assure us, with no moderate hand. The 
whole race of Saxon princes and nobles had been extir- 
pated or disinherited, with few or no exceptions; nor 
were the numbers great who possessed land in the coun- 
try of their fathers, even as proprietors of the second or of 
yet inferior classes. The royal policy had long been to 
weaken, by every means, legal or illegal, the strength of 
a part of the population which was justly considered as 
nourishing the most inveterate antipathy to their victor. 
All the monarchs of the Norman race had shown the most 
marked predilection for their Norman subjects; the laws 
of the chase, and many others, equally unknown to the 
milder and more free spirit of the Saxon constitution, had 
been fixed upon the necks of the subjugated inhabitants, 
to add weight, as it were, to the feudal chains with which 
they were loaded. At court, and in the castles of the 
great nobles, where the pomp and state of a court was 
emulated, Norman-French was the only language em- 
ployed; in courts of law, the pleadings and judgments 
were delivered in the same tongue. In short, French was 
the language of honour, of chivalry, and even of justice, 
while the far more manly and expressive Anglo-Saxon 
was abandoned to the use of rustics and hinds, who knew 
no other. Still, however, the necessary intercourse be- 
tween the lords of the soil, and those oppressed inferior 
beings by whom that soil was cultivated, occasioned the 
gradual formation of a dialect, compounded betwixt the 
French and the Anglo-Saxon, in which they could render 
themselves mutually intelligible to each other; and from 
this necessity arose by degrees the structure of our present 
English language, in which the speech of the victors 
and the vanquished have been so happily blended to- 
gether; and which has since been so richly improved by 
importations from the classical languages, and from 
those spoken by the southern nations of Europe. 


4 


IVANHOE 


This state of things I have thought it necessary to pre- 
mise for the information of the general reader, who might 
be apt to forget that, although no great historical events, 
such as war or insurrection, mark the existence of the 
Anglo- Saxons as a separate people subsequent to the reign 
of William the Second, yet the great national distinctions 
betwixt them and their conquerors, the recollection of 
what they had formerly been, and to what they were now 
reduced, continued, down to the reign of Edward the 
Third, to keep open the wounds which the Conquest had 
inflicted, and to maintain a line of separation betwixt the 
descendants of the victor Normans and the vanquished 
Saxons. 

The sun was setting upon one of the rich glassy glades 
of that forest which we have mentioned in the begin- 
ning of the chapter. Hundreds of broad-headed, short- 
stemmed, wide-branched oaks, which had witnessed 
perhaps the stately march of the Roman soldiery, flung 
their gnarled arms over a thick carpet of the most deli- 
cious greensward ; in some places they were intermingled 
with beeches, hollies, and copsewood of various descrip- 
tions, so closely as totally to intercept the level beams of 
the sinking sun ; in others they receded from each other, 
forming those long sweeping vistas in the intricacy of 
which the eye delights to lose itself, while imagination 
considers them as the paths to yet wilder scenes of silvan 
solitude. Here the red rays of the sun shot a broken and 
discoloured light, that partially hung upon the shattered 
boughs and mossy trunks of the trees, and there they 
illuminated in brilliant patches the portions of turf to 
which they made their way. A considerable open space, 
in the midst of this glade, seemed formerly to have been 
dedicated to the rites of Druidical superstition; for, on 
the summit of a hillock, so regular as to seem artificial, 
there still remained part of a circle of rough, unhewn 
stones, of large dimensions. Seven stood upright; the 


IVANHOE 


5 


rest had been dislodged from their places, probably by 
the zeal of some convert to Christianity, and lay, some 
prostrate near their former site, and others on the side 
of the hill. One large stone only had found its way to 
the bottom, and, in stopping the course of a small brook 
which glided smoothly round the foot of the eminence, 
gave, by its opposition, a feeble voice of murmur to the 
placid and elsewhere silent streamlet. 

The human figures which completed this landscape 
were in number two, partaking, in their dress and appear- 
ance, of that wild and rustic character which belonged 
to the woodlands of the West Riding of Yorkshire at 
that early period. The eldest of these men had a stern, 
savage, and wild aspect. His garment vras of the simplest 
form imaginable, being a close jacket with sleeves, com- 
posed of the tanned skin of some animal, on which the 
hair had been originally left, but which had been worn 
off in so many places that it would have been difiicult 
to distinguish, from the patches that remained, to what 
creature the fur had belonged. This primeval vestment 
reached from the throat to the knees, and served at once 
all the usual purposes of body-clothing; there was no 
wider opening at the collar than was necessary to admit 
the passage of the head, from which it may be inferred 
that it was put on by slipping it over the head and shoul- 
ders, in the manner of a modern shirt, or ancient hauberk. 
Sandals, bound with thongs made of boar’s hide, pro- 
tected the feet, and a roll of thin leather was twined 
artificially around the legs, and, ascending above the 
calf, left the knees bare, like those of a Scottish High- 
lander. To make the jacket sit yet more close to the 
body, it was gathered at the middle by a broad leathern 
belt, secured by a brass buckle; to one side of which 
was attached a sort of scrip, and to the other a ram’s 
horn, accoutred with a mouthpiece, for the purpose of 
blowing. In the same belt was stuck one of those long, 
broad, sharp-pointed, and two-edged knives, with a 


(5 


IVANHOE 


buck’s-horn handle, which were fabricated in the neigh- 
bourhood, and bore even at this early period the name 
of a Sheffield whittle. The man had no covering upon 
his head, which was only defended by his own thick hair, 
matted and twisted together, and scorched by tlie influ- 
ence of the sun into a rusty dark-red colour, forming a 
contrast with the overgrown beard upon his cheeks, which 
was rather of a yellow or amber hue. One part of his 
dress only remains, but it is too remarkable to be sup- 
pressed; it was a brass ring, resembling a dog’s collar, 
but without any opening, and soldered fast round his 
neck, so loose as to form no impediment to his breath- 
ing, yet so tight as to be incapable of being removed, 
excepting by the use of the file. On this singular gorget 
was engraved, in Saxon characters, an inscription of the 
following purport: “Gurth, the son of Beowulph, is 
the born thrall of Cedric of Rotherwood.” 

Beside the swineherd, for such was Gurth’s occupation, 
was seated, upon one of the fallen Druidical monuments, 
a person about ten years younger in appearance, and 
whose dress, though resembling his companion’s in form, 
was of better materials, and of a more fantastic appear- 
ance. His jacket had been stained of a bright purple 
hue, upon which there had been some attempt to paint 
grotesque ornaments in different colours. To the jacket 
he added a short cloak, which scarcely reached half-way 
down his thigh; it was of crimson cloth, though a good 
deal soiled, lined with bright yellow; and as he could 
transfer it from one shoulder to the other, or at his pleas- 
ure draw it all around him, its width, contrasted with its 
want of longitude, formed a fantastic piece of drapery. 
He had thin silver bracelets upon his arms, and on his 
neck a collar of the same metal, bearing the inscription, 
“Wamba, the son of Witless, is the thrall of Cedric of 
Rotherwood.” This personage had the same sort of 
sandals with his companion, but instead of the roll 
of leather thong, his legs were cased in a sort of gaiters. 


IVANHOE 


7 


of which one was red and the other yellow. He was 
provided also with a cap, having around it more than 
one bell, about the size of those attached to hawks, 
which jingled as he turned his head to one side or other; 
and as he seldom remained a minute in the same posture, 
the sound might be considered as incessant. Around the 
edge of this cap was a stiff bandeau of leather, cut at the 
top into open work, resembling a coronet, while a pro- 
longed bag arose from within it, and fell down on one 
shoulder like an old-fashioned nightcap, or a jelly-bag, 
or the head-gear of a modern hussar. It was to this 
part of the cap that the bells were attached; which cir- 
cumstance, as well as the shape of his head-dress, and 
his own half-crazed, half-cunning expression of coun- 
tenance, sufficiently pointed him out as belonging to the 
race of domestic clowns or jesters, maintained in the 
houses of the wealthy, to help away the tedium of those 
lingering hours which they were obliged to spend within 
doors. He bore, like his companion, a scrip attached to 
his belt, but had neither horn nor knife, being probably 
considered as belonging to a class whom it is esteemed 
dangerous to entrust with edge-tools. In place of these, 
he was equipped with a sort of sword of lath, resembling 
that with which harlequin operates his wonders upon 
the modern stage. 

The outward appearance of these two men formed 
scarce a stronger contrast than their look and demeanour. 
That of the serf, or bondsman, was sad and sullen; his 
aspect was bent on the ground with an appearance of 
deep dejection, which might be almost construed into 
apathy, had not the fire which occasionally sparkled in 
his red eye manifested that there slumbered, under the 
appearance of sullen despondency, a sense of oppression, 
and a disposition to resistance. The looks of Wamba, on 
the other hand, indicated, as usual with his class, a sort 
of vacant curiosity, and fidgety impatience of any pos- 
ture of repose, together with the utmost self-satisfaction 


8 


IVANHOE 


respecting his own situation and the appearance which 
he made. The dialogue which they maintained between 
them was carried on in Anglo-Saxon, which, as we said 
before, was universally spoken by the inferior classes, ex- 
cepting the Norman soldiers and the immediate personal 
dependants of the great feudal nobles. But to give their 
conversation in the original would convey but little in- 
formation to the modern reader, for whose benefit we beg 
to offer the following translation : — 

“ The curse of St. Withold upon these infernal porkers ! ” 
said the swineherd, after blowing his horn obstreperously, 
to collect together the scattered herd of swine, which, an- 
swering his call with notes equally melodious, made, how- 
ever, no haste to remove themselves from the luxurious 
banquet of beechmast and acorns on which they had 
fattened, or to forsake the marshy banks of the rivulet, 
where several of them, half-plunged in mud, lay stretched 
at their ease, altogether regardless of the voice of their 
keeper. “ The curse of St. Withold upon them and upon 
me!” said Gurth; “ if the two-legged wolf snap not up 
some of them ere nightfall, I am no true man. Here, 
Fangs! Fangs!” he ejaculated at the top of his voice 
to a ragged, wolfish-looking dog, a sort of lurcher, half 
mastiff, half greyhound, which ran limping about as if 
with the purpose of seconding his master in collecting 
the refractory grunters; but which, in fact, from misap- 
prehension of the swineherd’s signals, ignorance of his 
own duty, or malice prepense, only drove them hither 
and thither, and increased the evil which he seemed to 
design to remedy. “A devil draw the teeth of him,” 
said Gurth, “ and the mother of mischief confound the 
ranger of the forest, that cuts the fore-claws off our dogs, 
and makes them unfit for their trade ! Wamba, up and 
help me an thou beest a man ; take a turn round the back 
o’ the hill to gain the wind on them ; and when thou ’st 
got the weather-gage, thou mayst drive them before thee 
as gently as so many innocent lambs.” 


IVANHOE 


9 


“ Truly,” said Wamba, without stirring from the spot, 
“ I have consulted my legs upon this matter, and they 
are altogether of opinion that to carry my gay garments 
through these sloughs would be an act of unfriendship 
to my sovereign person and royal wardrobe ; wherefore, 
Gurth, I advise thee to call off Fangs, and leave the herd 
to their destiny, which, whether they meet with bands 
of travelling soldiers, or of outlaws, or of wandering 
pilgrims, can be little else than to be converted into Nor- 
mans before morning, to thy no small ease and comfort.” 

“ The swine turned Normans to my comfort!” quoth 
Gurth; “ expound that to me, Wamba, for my brain is 
too dull and my mind too vexed to read riddles.” 

“ Why, how call you those grunting brutes running 
about on their four legs ? ” demanded Wamba. 

“Swine, fool — swine,” said the herd; “every fool 
knows that.” 

“And swine is good Saxon,” said the Jester; “ but 
how call you the sow when she is flayed, and drawn, and 
quartered, and hung up by the heels, like a traitor?” 

“ Pork,” answered the swineherd. 

“I am very glad every fool knows that too,” said 
Wamba, “and pork, I think, is good Norman-French; 
and so when the brute lives, and is in the charge of a 
Saxon slave, she goes by her Saxon name; but becomes 
a Norman, and is called pork, when she is carried to the 
castle hall to feast among the nobles. What dost thou 
think of this, friend Gurth, ha?” 

“It is but too true doctrine, friend Wamba, however 
it got into thy fool’s pate.” 

“ Nay, I can tell you more,” said Wamba in the same , 
tone: “ there is old Alderman Ox continues to hold his 
Saxon epithet while he is under the charge of serfs and 
bondsmen such as thou, but becomes Beef, a fiery French 
gallant, w^hen he arrives before the worshipful jaws that 
are destined to consume him. Mynherr Calf, too, be- 
comes Monsieur de Veau in the like manner: he is 


10 


IVANHOE 


Saxon when he requires tendance, and takes a Norman 
name when he becomes matter of enjoyment.’* 

“By St. Dunstan,” answered Gurth, “thou speakest 
but sad truths ; little is left to us but the air we breathe, 
and that appears to have been reserved with much hesi- 
tation, solely for the purpose of enabling us to endure 
the tasks they lay upon our shoulders. The finest and 
the fattest is for their board; the loveliest is for their 
couch ; the best and bravest supply their foreign masters 
v/ith soldiers, and whiten distant lands with their bones, 
leaving few here who have either will or the power to 
protect the unfortunate Saxon. God’s blessing on our 
Master Cedric, he hath done the work of a man in stand- 
ing in the gap; but Reginald Front-de-Boeuf is coming 
down to this country in person, and we shall soon see 
how little Cedric’s trouble will avail him. Here, here,” 
he exclaimed again, raising his voice, “So ho! so ho! 
well done. Fangs! thou hast them all before thee now, 
and bring’st them on bravely, lad.” 

“ Gurth,” said the Jester, “ I know thou thinkest me 
a fool, or thou wouldst not be so rash in putting thy head 
into my mouth. One word to Reginald Front-de-Boeuf 
or Philip de Malvoisin, that thou hast spoken treason 
against the Norman — and thou art but a castaway 
swineherd; thou wouldst waver on one of these trees as 
a terror to all evil speakers against dignities.” 

“ Dog, thou wouldst not betray me,” said Gurth, “ after 
having led me on to speak so much at disadvantage ? ” 

“ Betray thee!” answered the Jester; “no, that were 
the trick of a wise man; a fool cannot half so well help 
himself. But soft, whom have we here.?^” he said, 
listening to the trampling of several horses which became 
then audible. 

“ Never mind whom,” answered Gurth, who had now 
got his herd before him, and, with the aid of Fangs, was 
driving them down one of the long dim vistas which we 
have endeavoured to describe. 


IVANHOE 


11 


“Nay, but I must see the riders,’^ answered Wamba; 
“perhaps they are come from Fairyland with a message 
from King Oberon.” 

“A murrain take thee ! ” rejoined the swineherd ; “ wilt 
thou talk of such things, while a terrible storm of thunder 
and lightning is raging within a few miles of us ? Hark, 
how the thunder rumbles ! and for summer rain, I never 
saw such broad downright flat drops fall out of the clouds ; 
the oaks, too, notwithstanding the calm weather, sob and 
creak with their great boughs as if announcing a tempest. 
Thou canst play the rational if thou wilt; credit me for 
once, and let us home ere the storm begins to rage, for 
the night will be fearful.” 

Wamba seemed to feel the force of this appeal, and 
accompanied his companion, who began his journey after 
catching up a long quarter-staff which lay upon the grass 
beside him. This second Eumseus strode hastily down 
the forest glade, driving before him, with the assistance 
of Fangs, the whole herd of his inharmonious charge. 


CHAPTER II 

A monk there was, a fayre for the maistrie. 

An outrider that loved venerie ; 

A manly man, to be an abbot able, 

Fully many a daintie horse had he in stable. 

And whan he rode, men might his bridle hear 
Gingerling in a whistling wind as clear. 

And eke as loud, as doth the chapell bell. 

There as this lord was keeper of the cell. 

Chaucer. 

N otwithstanding the occasional exhorta- 
tion and chiding of his companion, the noise 
of the horsemen’s feet continuing to approach, 
Wamba could not be prevented from lingering occasion- 
ally on the road, upon every pretence which occurred; 


IVANHOE 


n 

now catching from the hazel a cluster of half-ripe nuts, 
and now turning his head to leer after a cottage maiden 
who crossed their path. The horsemen, therefore, soon 
overtook them on the road. 

Their numbers amounted to ten men, of whom the two 
who rode foremost seemed to be persons of considerable 
importance, and the others their attendants. It was not 
difficult to ascertain the condition and character of 
one of these personages. He was obviously an ecclesi- 
astic of high rank; his dress was that of a Cistercian 
monk, but composed of materials much finer than those 
which the nde of that order admitted. His mantle and 
hood were of the best Flanders cloth, and fell in ample, 
and not ungraceful, folds around a handsome though 
somewhat corpulent person. His countenance bore as 
little the marks of self-denial as his habit indicated 
contempt of worldly splendour. His features might 
have been called good, had there not lurked under the 
penthouse of his eye that sly epicurean twinkle which 
indicates the cautious voluptuary. In other respects, 
his profession and situation had taught him a ready 
command over his countenance, which he could contract 
at pleasure into solemnity, although its natural ex- 
pression was that of good-humoured social indulgence. 
In defiance of conventual rules and the edicts of popes 
and councils, the sleeves of this dignitary were lined 
and turned up with rich furs, his mantle secured at 
the throat with a golden clasp, and the whole dress 
proper to his order as much refined upon and orna- 
mented as that of a Quaker beauty of the present day, 
who, while she retains the garb and costume of her 
sect, continues to give to its simplicity, by the choice 
of materials and the mode of disposing them, a certain 
air of coquettish attraction savouring but too much of 
the vanities of the world. 

This worthy churqhman rode upon a well-fed, am- 
bling mule, whose furniture was highly decorated, and 


IVANHOE 


13 


whose bridle, according to the fashion of the day, was 
ornamented with silver bells. In his seat he had noth- 
ing of the awkwardness of the convent, but displayed 
the easy and habitual grace of a well-trained horseman. 
Indeed, it seemed that so humble a conveyance as a mule, 
in however good case, and however well broken to a 
pleasant and accommodating amble, was only used by 
the gallant monk for travelling on the road. A lay 
brother, one of those who followed in the train, had, 
for his use on other occasions, one of the most hand- 
some Spanish jennets ever bred in Andalusia, wliich 
merchants used at that time to import, with great 
trouble and risk, for the use of persons of wealth and 
distinction. The saddle and housings of this superb 
palfrey were covered by a long foot-cloth, which reached 
nearly to the ground, and on which were richly embroid- 
ered mitres, crosses, and other ecclesiastical emblems. 
Another lay brother led a sumpter mule, loaded prob- 
ably with his superior’s baggage; and two monks of 
his own order, of inferior station, rode together in 
the rear, laughing and conversing with each other, 
without taking much notice of the other members of 
the cavalcade. 

The companion of the church dignitary was a man 
past forty, thin, strong, tall, and muscular ; an athletic 
figure, which long fatigue and constant exercise seemed 
to have left none of the 'softer part of the human form, 
having reduced the whole to brawn, bones, and sinews, 
which had sustained a thousand toils, and were ready 
to dare a thousand more. His head, was covered with 
a scarlet cap, faced with fur, of that kind which the 
French call mortier, from its resemblance to the shape 
of an inverted mortar. His countenance was there- 
fore fully displayed, and its expression was calculated 
to impress a degree of awe, if not of fear, upon 
strangers. High features, naturally strong and power- 
fully expressive, had been burnt almost into Negro 


14 


IVANHOE 


blackness by constant exposure to the tropical sun, and 
might, in their ordinary state, be said to slumber after 
the storm of passion had passed away; but the projec- 
tion of the veins of the forehead, the readiness with 
which the upper lip and its thick black moustaches 
quivered upon the slightest emotion, plainly intimated 
that the tempest might be again and easily awakened. 
His keen, piercing, dark eyes told in every glance a 
history of difficulties subdued and dangers dared, and 
seemed to challenge opposition to his wishes, for the 
pleasure of sweeping it from his road by a determined 
exertion of courage and of will; a deep scar on his 
brow gave additional sternness to his countenance and 
a sinister expression to one of his eyes, which had been 
slightly injured on the same occasion, and of which 
the vision, though perfect, was in a slight and partial 
degree distorted. 

The upper dress of this personage resembled that of 
his companion in shape, being a long monastic mantle ; 
but the colour, being scarlet, showed that he did not 
belong to any of the four regular orders of monks. 
On the right shoulder of the mantle there was cut, in 
white cloth, a cross of a peculiar form. This upper 
robe concealed what at first view seemed rather incon- 
sistent with its form, a shirt, namely, of linked mail, 
with sleeves and gloves of the same, curiously plaited 
and interwoven, as flexible to ^he body as those which i 
are now wrought in the stocking-loom out of less ob- 
durate materials. The fore part of his thighs, where ' 
the folds of his mantle permitted them to be seen, were I 
also covered with linked mail; the knees and feet were 
defended by splints, or thin plates of steel, ingeniously 
jointed upon each other; and mail hose, reaching from 
the ankle to the knee, effectually protected the legs, and 
completed the rider’s defensive armour. In his girdle 
he wore a long and double-edged dagger, which was the 
only offensive weapon about his person. 


IVANHOE 


15 


He rode, not a mule, like his companion, but a strong 
hackney for the road, to save his gallant war-horse, 
which a squire led behind, fully accoutred for battle, 
with a chamfron or plaited head-piece upon his head, 
having a short spike projecting from the front. On 
one side of the saddle hung a short battle-axe, richly 
inlaid with Damascene carving ; on the other the rider’s 
plumed head-piece and hood of mail, with a long two- 
handed sword, used by the cliivalry of the period. A 
second squire held aloft his master’s lance, from the 
extremity of which fluttered a small banderole, or 
, streamer, bearing a cross of the same form with that 
embroidered upon his cloak. He also carried his small 
, triangular shield, broad enough at the top to protect 
the breast, and from thence diminishing to a point. It 
! was covered with a scarlet cloth, which prevented the 
device from being seen. 

These two squires were followed by two attendants, 
whose dark visages, white turbans, and the Oriental 
I form of their garments, showed them to be natives of 
some distant Eastern country. The whole appearance 
of this warrior and his retinue was wild and outlandish ; 
the dress of his squires was gorgeous, and his Eastern 
attendants wore silver collars round their throats, and 
bracelets of the same metal upon their swarthy legs 
and arms, of which the latter were naked from the 
elbow, and the former from mid-leg to ankle. Silk and 
embroidery distinguished their dresses, and marked the 
wealth and importance of their master; forming, at 
the same time, a striking contrast with the martial 
simplicity of his own attire. They were armed with 
crooked sabres, having the hilt and baldric inlaid with 
gold, and matched with Turkish daggers of yet more 
costly workmanship. Each of them bore at his saddle- 
bow a bundle of darts or javelins, about four feet in 
length, having sharp steel heads, a weapon much in use 
among the Saracens, and of which the memory is yet 


16 


IVANHOE 


preserved in the martial exercise called el jerrid, still 
practised in the Eastern countries. 

The steeds of these attendants were in appearance as 
foreign as their riders. They were of Saracen origin, 
and consequently of Arabian descent; and their fine 
slender limbs, small fetlocks, thin manes, and easy 
springy motion, formed a marked contrast with the 
large-jointed heavy horses, of which the race was cul- 
tivated in Flanders and in Normandy for mounting the 
men-at-arms of the period in all the panoply of plate 
and mail, and which, placed by the side of those Eastern 
coursers, might have passed for a personification of 
substance and of shadow. 

The singular appearance of this cavalcade not only 
attracted the curiosity of Wamba, but excited even that 
of his less volatile companion. The monk he instantly 
knew to be the Prior of Jorvaulx Abbey, well known 
for many miles around as a lover of the chase, of the 
banquet, and, if fame did him not wrong, of other 
worldly pleasures still more inconsistent with his mo- 
nastic vows. 

Yet so loose were the ideas of the times respecting the 
conduct of the clergy, whether secular or regular, that 
the Prior Aymer maintained a fair character in the 
neighbourhood of his abbey. His free and jovial tem- 
per, and the readiness with which he granted absolution 
from all ordinary delinquencies, rendered him a favour- 
ite among the nobility and principal gentry, to several 
of whom he was allied by birth, being of a distinguished 
Norman family. The ladies, in particular, were not 
disposed to scan too nicely the morals of a man who 
was a professed admirer of their sex, and who possessed 
many means of dispelling the ennui which was too apt 
to intrude upon the halls and bowers of an ancient 
feudal castle. The Prior mingled in the sports of th^ 
field with more than due eagerness, and was allowed' 
to possess the best-trained hawks and the fleetei^ 


IVANHOE 


17 


greyhounds in the North Riding — circumstances which 
strongly recommended him to the youthful gentry. 
With the old he had another part to play, which, when 
needful, he could sustain with great decorum. His 
knowledge of books, however superficial, was sufficient 
to impress upon their ignorance respect for his sup- 
posed learning; and the gravity of his deportment 
and language, with the high tone which he exerted 
in setting forth the authority of the church and of the 
priesthood, impressed them no less with an opinion of 
his sanctity. Even the common people, the severest 
critics of the conduct of their betters, had commisera- 
tion with the folhes of Prior Aymer. He was generous ; 
and charity, as it is well known, covereth a multitude 
of sins, in another sense than that in which it is said to 
do so in Scripture. The revenues of the monastery, of 
which a large part was at his disposal, while thev gave 
him the means of supplying his own very considerable 
expenses, afforded also those largesses which he . be- 
stowed among the peasantry, and with which Jie fre- 
quently relieved the distresses of the oppressed. If 
Prior Aymer rode hard in the chase, or remained long 
at the banquet, if Prior Aymer was seen at the early 
peep of dawn to enter the postern of the abbey, as he 
glided home from some rendezvous which had occupied 
the hours of darkness, men only shrugged up their 
shoulders, and reconciled themselves to his irregularities 
by recollecting that the same were practised by many 
of his brethren who had no redeeming qualities whatso- 
ever to atone for them. Prior Aymer, therefore, and 
his character, were well known to our Saxon serfs, 
who made their rude obeisance, and received his 
‘‘ Benedicite, mes filz’’ in return. 

But the singular appearance of his companion and 
his attendants arrested their attention and excited their 
wonder, and they could scarcely attend to the Prior of 
Jorvaulx’s question, when he demanded if they knew 
2 


18 


IVANHOE 


3 

of any place of harbourage in the e vicinity ; so much 
were they surprised at the half-mon$sistic, half-military 
appearance of the swarthy stranger^ex and at the un- 
couth dress and arms of his Eastern attohndants. It is 
probable, too, that the language in which; the benedic- 
tion was conferred, and the information asloned, sounded 
ungracious, though not probably unintelligiirhle, in the 
ears of the Saxon peasants. ac 

“ I asked you, my children,” said the Prior, mraising 
his voice, and using the lingua Franca^ or mixea d lan- 
guage, in which the Norman and Saxon races convert a=;ed 
with each other, “ if there be in this neighbourhood amnv 
good man who, for the love of God and devotion to 
Mother Church, will give two of her humblest servants, 
with their train, a night’s hospitality and refreshment.?” 

This he spoke with a tone of conscious importance, 
which formed a strong contrast to the modest terms 
which he thought it proper to employ. 

“ Two of the humblest servants of Mother Church ! ” 
repeated Wamba to himself, but, fool as he was, taking 
care not to make his observation audible; “I should 
like to see her seneschals, her chief butlers, and her 
other principal domestics ! ” 

After this internal commentary on the Prior’s speech, 
he raised his eyes and replied to the question which had 
been put. 

“ If the reverend fathers,” he said, “ loved good cheer 
and soft lodging, few miles of riding would carry them 
to the Priory of Brinxworth, where their quality could 
not but secure them the most honourable reception ; or 
if they preferred spending a penitential evening, they 
might turn down yonder wild glade, which would bring 
them to the hermitage of Copmanhurst, where a pious 
anchoret would make them sharers for the night of the 
shelter of his roof and the benefit of his prayers.” 

The Prior shook his head at both proposals. 

“Mine honest friend,” said he, “if the jangling of 


IVANHOE 


19 


thy bells had not dizzied thine understanding, thou 
mightest have known Clericus clericum non decimat; 
that is to say, we churchmen do not exhaust each other’s 
hospitality, but rather require that of the laity, giving 
them thus an opportunity to serve God in honouring 
and relieving His appointed servants.” 

“It is true,” replied Wamba, “that I, being but an 
ass, am, nevertheless, honoured to bear the bells as well 
as your reverence’s mule; notwithstanding, I did con- 
ceive that the charity of Mother Church and her ser- 
vants might be said, wdth other charity, to begin at 
home.” 

“ A truce to thine insolence, fellow,” said the armed 
rider, breaking in on his prattle with a high and stern 
voice, “ and tell us, if thou canst, the road to — How 
call’d you your franklin. Prior Aymer.?^” 

“Cedric,” answered the Prior — “Cedric the Saxon. 
Tell me, good fellow, are we near his dwelling, and 
can you show us the road.?” 

“ The road will be uneasy to find,” answered Gurth, 
who broke silence for the first time, “ and the family of 
Cedric retire early to rest.” 

“ Tush, tell not me, fellow ! ” said the military rider ; 
“ ’t is easy for them to arise and supply the wants of 
travellers such as we are, who will not stoop to beg the 
hospitality which we have a right to command.” 

“ I know not,” said Gurth, sullenly, “ if I should show 
the way to my master’s house to those who demand as a 
right the shelter which most are fain to ask as a favour.” 

“ Do you dispute with me, slave ! ” said the soldier ; 
and, setting spurs to his horse, he caused him make a 
demi-volte across the path, raising at the same time the 
riding-rod which he held in his hand, with a purpose of 
chastising what he considered as the insolence of the 
peasant. 

Gurth darted at him a savage and revengeful scowl, 
and with a fierce yet hesitating motion laid his hand on 


20 


IVANHOE 


the haft of his knife; but the interference of Prior 
Aymer, who pushed his mule betwixt his companion and 
the swineherd, prevented the meditated violence. 

“Nay, by St. Mary, brother Brian, you must not 
think you are now in Palestine, predominating over 
heathen Turks and infidel Saracens ; we islanders love 
not blows, save those of Holy Church, who chasteneth 
whom she loveth. Tell me, good fellow,” said he to 
Wamba, and seconded his speech by a small piece of 
silver coin, “ the w^ay to Cedric the Saxon’s ; you cannot 
be ignorant of it, and it is your duty to direct the wan- 
derer even when his character is less sanctified than 
ours.” 

“ In truth, venerable father,” answered the Jester, 
“ the Saracen head of your right reverend companion 
has frightened out of mine the way home: I am not sure 
I shall get there to-night myself.” 

“ Tush,” said the Abbot, “ thou canst tell us if thou 
wilt. This reverend brother has been all his life en- 
gaged in fighting among the Saracens for the recovery 
of the Holy Sepulchre; he is of the order of Knights 
Templars, whom you may have heard of : he is half 
a monk, half a soldier.” 

“ If he is but half a monk,” said the Jester, “he should 
not be wholly unreasonable with those whom he meets 
upon the road, even if they should be in no hurry to 
answer questions that no way concern them.” 

“ I forgive thy wit,” replied the Abbot, “ on condition 
thou wilt show me the way to Cedric’s mansion.” 

“Well, then,” answered Wamba, “your reverences 
must hold on this path till you come to a sunken cross, 
of which scarce a cubit’s length remains above ground ; 
then take the path to the left, for there are four which 
meet at Sunken Cross, and I trust your reverences will 
obtain shelter before the storm comes on.” 

The Abbot thanked his sage adviser ; and the caval- 
cade, setting spurs to their horses, rode on as men do 


rVANHOE 21 

who wish to reach their inn before the bursting of a 
night-storm. 

As their horses’ hoofs died away, Gurth said to his 
companion, “ If they follow thy wise direction, the 
reverend fathers will hardly reach Rotherwood this 
night.” 

“No,” said the Jester, grinning, “but they may 
reach Sheffield if they have good luck, and that is as 
fit a place for them. I am not so bad a woodsman as 
to show the dog where the deer lies, if I have no mind 
he should chase him.” 

“ Thou art right,” said Gurth ; “ it were ill that Ay- 
mer saw the Lady Rowena; and it were worse, it may 
be, for Cedric to quarrel, as is most likely he would, 
with this military monk. But, like good servants, let 
us hear and see, and say nothing.” 

We return to the riders, who had soon left the bonds- 
men far behind them, and who maintained the following 
conversation in the Norman-French language, usually 
employed by the superior classes, with the exception 
of the few who were still inclined to boast their Saxon 
descent : — 

“What mean these fellows by their capricious inso- 
lence ? ” said the Templar to the Benedictine, “ and why 
did you prevent me from chastising it.?” 

“ Marry, brother Brian,” replied the Prior, “ touching 
the one of them, it were hard for me to render a reason 
for a fool speaking according to his folly; and the 
other churl is of that savage, fierce, intractable race 
some of whom, as I have often told you, are still to 
be found among the descendants of the conquered 
Saxons, and whose supreme pleasure it is to testify, 
by all means in their power, their aversion to their 
conquerors.” 

“ I would soon have beat him into courtesy,” observed 
Brian; “I am accustomed to deal with such spirits. 
Our Turkish captives arc as fierce and intractable as 


22 


IVANHOE 


Odin himself could have been; yet two months in my 
household, under the management of my master of the 
slaves, has made them humble, submissive, serviceable, 
and observant of your will. Marry, sir, you must 
beware of the poison and the dagger; for they use 
either with free will when you give them the slightest 
opportunity.” 

“ Ay, but,” answered Prior Aymer, “ every land has 
its own manners and fashions; and, besides that beat- 
ing this fellow could procure us no information re- 
specting the road to Cedric’s house, it would have been 
sure to have established a quarrel betwixt you and him 
had we found our way thither. Remember what I told 
you: this wealthy franklin is proud, fierce, jealous, and 
irritable, a withstander of the nobility, and even of his 
neighbours, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf and Philip Mal- 
voisin, who are no babes to strive with. He stands up 
so sternly for the privileges of his race, and is so proud 
of his uninterrupted descent from Hereward, a re- 
nowned champion of the Heptarchy, that he is univer- 
sally called Cedric the Saxon ; and makes a boast of 
his belonging to a people from whom many others 
endeavour to hide their descent, lest they should en- 
counter a share of the vce vicfis, or severities imposed 
upon the vanquished.” 

“ Prior Aymer,” said the Templar, “ you are a man 
of gallantry, learned in the study of beauty, and as 
expert as a troubadour in all matters concerning the 
arrets of love ; but I shall expect much beauty in this 
celebrated Rowena, to counterbalance the self-denial 
and forbearance which I must exert if I am tO' court 
the favour of such a seditious churl as you have de- 
scribed her father Cedric.” 

“ Cedric is not her father,” replied the Prior, “ and is 
but of remote relation: she is descended from higher 
blood than even he pretends to, and is but distantly 
connected with him by birth. Her guardian, however, 


IVANHOE 


23 


he is, self-constituted as I believe ; but his ward is as 
dear to him as if she were his own child. Of her beauty 
you shall soon be judge; and if the purity of her 
complexion, and the majestic yet soft expression of a 
mild blue eye, do not chase from your memory the 
black-tressed girls of Palestine, ay, or the houris of old 
Mahound’s' paradise, I am an infidel and no true son 
of the church.” 

“ Should your boasted beauty,” said the Templar, 
be weighed in the balance and found wanting, you 
know our wager ? ” 

“ My gold collar,” answered the Prior, ‘‘ against ten 
butts of Chian wine: they are mine as securely as if 
they were already in the convent vaults, under the key 
of old Dennis, the cellarer.” 

“And I am myself to be the judge,” said the Tem- 
plar, “ and am only to be convicted on my own ad- 
mission that I have seen no maiden so beautiful since 
Pentecost was a twelvemonth. Ran it not so.^^ Prior, 
your collar is in danger ; I will wear it over my gorget 
in the lists of Ashby-de-la-Zouche.” 

“ Win it fairly,” said the Prior, “ and wear it as ye 
will ; I will trust your giving true response, on your 
word as a knight and as a churchman. Yet, brother, 
take my advice, and file your tongue to a little more 
courtesy than your habits of predominating over in- 
fidel captives and Eastern bondsmen have accustomed 
you. Cedric the Saxon, if offended — and he is no 
way slack in taking offence — is a man who, without 
respect to your knighthood, my high office, or the sanc- 
tity of either, would clear his house of us, and send us 
to lodge with the larks, though the hour were midnight. 
And be careful how you look on Rowena, whom he 
cherishes with the most jealous care; an he take the 
least alarm in that quarter we are but lost men. It 
is said he banished his only son from his family for 
lifting his eyes in the way of affection towards this 


24 


IVANHOE 


beauty, who may be worshipped, it seems, at a dis- 
tance, but is not to be approached with other thoughts 
than such as we bring to the shrine of the Blessed 
Virgin.” 

“ Well, you have said enough,” answered the Tem- 
plar ; “ I will for a night put on the needful restraint, 
and deport me as meekly as a maiden ; but as for the 
fear of his expelling us by violence, myself and squires, 
with Hamet and Abdella, will warrant you against that 
disgrace. Doubt not that we shall be strong enough 
to make good our quarters.” 

“We must not let it come so far,” answered the 
Prior. “ But here is the clown’s sunken cross, and the 
night is so dark that we can hardly see which of 
the roads we are to follow. He bid us turn, I think, 
to the left.” 

“ To the right,” said Brian, “ to the best of my 
remembrance.” 

“To the left — certainly the left; I remember his 
pointing with his wooden sword.” 

“Ay, but he held his sword in his left hand, and so 
pointed across his body with it,” said the Templar. 

Each maintained his opinion with sufficient obstinacy, 
as is usual in all such cases ; the attendants were ap- 
pealed to, but they had not been near enough to hear 
Wamba’s directions. At length Brian remarked, what 
had at first escaped him in the twilight — “Here is 
some one either asleep or lying dead at the foot of 
this cross. Hugo, stir him with the butt-end of thy 
lance.” 

This was no sooner done than the figure arose, ex- 
claiming in good French, “Whosoever thou art, it is 
discourteous in you to disturb my thoughts.” 

“We did but wish to ask you,” said the Prior, “the 
road to Rotherwood, the abode of Cedric the Saxon.” 

“ I myself am bound thither,” replied the stranger ; 
“and if I had a horse I would be your guide, for the 


IVANHOE 25 

way is somewhat intricate, though perfectly well known 
to me.” 

‘‘ Thou shalt have both thanks and reward, my 
friend,” said the Prior, “if thou wilt bring us to 
Cedric’s in safety.” 

And he caused one of his attendants to mount his 
own led horse, and give that upon which he had hitherto 
ridden to the stranger who was to serve for a guide. 

Their conductor pursued an opposite road from that 
which Wamba had recommended for the purpose of 
misleading them. The path soon led deeper into the 
woodland, and crossed more than one brook, the ap- 
proach to which was rendered perilous by the marshes 
through which it flowed; but the stranger seemed to 
know, as if by instinct, the soundest ground and the 
safest points of passage; and, by dint of caution and 
attention, brought the party safely into a wider avenue 
than any they had yet seen ; and, pointing to a large, 
low, irregular building at the upper extremity, he said 
to the Prior, “Yonder is Rotherwood, the dwelling of 
Cedric the’ Saxon.” 

This was a joyful intimation to Aymer, whose nerves 
were none of the strongest, and who had suffered such 
agitation and alarm in the course of passing through 
the dangerous bogs, that he had not yet had the curi- 
osity to ask his guide a single question. Finding him- 
self now at his ease and near shelter, his curiosity began 
to awake, and he demanded of the guide who and what 
he was. 

“A palmer, just returned from the Holy Land,” 
was the answer. 

“ You had better have tarried there to fight for the 
recovery of the Holy Sepulchre,” said the Templar. 

“ True, Reverend Sir Knight,” answered the Palmer, 
to whom the appearance of the Templar seemed per- 
fectly familiar ; “ but when those who are under oath 
to recover the holy city are found travelling at such 


26 


IVANHOE 


a distance from the scene of their duties, can you won- 
der that a peaceful peasant like me should decline the 
task which they have abandoned?” 

The Templar would have made an angry reply, but 
was interrupted by the Prior, who again expressed his 
astonishment that their guide, after such long absence, 
should be so perfectly acquainted with the passes of 
the forest. 

“ I was bom a native of these parts,” answered their 
guide, and as he made the reply they stood before the 
mansion of Cedric — a low, irregular building, contain- 
ing several courtyards or enclosures, extending over a 
considerable space of ground, and which, though its 
size argued the inhabitant to be a person of wealth, 
differed entirely from the tall, turreted, and castellated 
buildings in which the Norman nobility resided, and 
which had become the universal style of architecture 
throughout England. 

Rotherwood was not, however, without defences; no 
habitation, in that disturbed period, could have been 
so without the risk of being plundered and burnt before 
the next morning. A deep fosse, or ditch, was drawn 
round the whole building, and filled with water from 
a neighbouring stream. A double stockade, or palisade, 
composed of pointed beams, wliich the adjacent forest 
supplied, defended the outer and inner bank of the 
trench. There was an entrance from the west through 
the outer stockade, which communicated by a draw- 
bridge with a similar opening in the interior defences. 
Some precautions had been taken to place these en- 
trances under the protection of projecting angles, by 
which they might be flanked in case of need by archers 
or slingers. 

Before this entrance the Templar wound his hom 
loudly ; for the rain, which had long threatened, began 
now to descend with great violence. 


IVANHOE 


27 


CHAPTER III 

Then (sad relief!) from the bleak coast that hears 
The German Ocean roar, deep-blooming, strong, 

And yellow-hair’d, the blue-eyed Saxon came. 

Thomson’s Liberty. 

I N a hall, the height of which was greatly dispro- 
portioned to its extreme length and width, a long 
oaken table formed of planks rough-hewn from the 
forest, and which had scarcely received any polish, 
stood ready prepared for the evening meal of Cedric 
the Saxon. The roof, composed of beams and rafters, 
had nothing to divide the apartment from the sky ex- 
cepting the planking and thatch ; there was a huge 
fireplace at either end of the hall, but, as the chimneys 
were constructed in a very clumsy manner, at least as 
much of the smoke found its way into the apartment 
as escaped by the proper vent. The constant vapour 
which this occasioned had polished the rafters and 
beams of the low-browed hall, by encrusting them with 
a black varnish of soot. On the sides of the apartment 
hung implements of war and of the chase, and there 
were at each comer folding doors, which gave access 
to other parts of the extensive building. 

The other appointments of the mansion partook of 
the rude simplicity of the Saxon period, which Cedric 
piqued himself upon maintaining. The floor was com- 
posed of earth mixed with lime, trodden into a hard 
substance, such as is often employed in flooring our 
modern bams. For about one quarter of the length 
of the apartment the floor was raised by a step, and 
this space, which was called the dais, was occupied only 
by the principal members of the family and visitors 
of distinction. For this purpose, a table richly covered 
with scarlet cloth was placed transversely across the 


28 


IVANHOE 


platform, from the middle of which ran the longer and 
lower board, at which the domestics and inferior per- 
sons fed, down towards the bottom of the hall. The 
whole resembled the form of the letter T, or some of 
those ancient dinner-tables which, arranged on the 
same principles, may be still seen in the antique Col- 
leges of Oxford or Cambridge. Massive chairs and 
settles of carved oak were placed upon the dais, and 
over these seats and the more elevated table was fas- 
tened a canopy of cloth, which served in some degree 
to protect the dignitaries who occupied that distin- 
guished station from the weather, and especially from 
the rain, which in some places found its way through 
the ill-constructed roof. 

The walls of this upper end of the hall, as far as the 
dais extended, were covered with hangings or curtains, 
and upon the floor there was a carpet, both of which 
were adorned with some attempts at tapestry or em- 
broidery, executed with brilliant, or rather gaudy, 
colouring. Over the lower range of table, the roof, 
as we have noticed, had no covering; the rough plas- 
tered walls were left bare, and the rude earthen floor 
was uncarpeted; the board was uncovered by a cloth, 
and rude massive benches supplied the place of chairs. 

In the centre of the upper table were placed two 
chairs more elevated than the rest, for the master and 
mistress of the family, who presided over the scene of 
hospitality, and from doing so derived their Saxon title 
of honour, which signifies “ the Dividers of Bread.” 

To each of these chairs was added a footstool, curi- 
ously carved and inlaid with ivory, which mark of dis- 
tinction was peculiar to them. One of these seats was 
at present occupied by Cedric the Saxon, who, though 
but in rank a thane, or, as the Normans called him, a 
franklin, felt at the delay of his evening meal an irri- 
table impatience which might have become an alderman, 
whether of ancient or of modern times. 


IVANHOE 


29 


It appeared, indeed, from the countenance of this 
proprietor, that he was of a frank, but hasty and 
choleric, temper. He was not above the middle stature, 
but broad-shouldered, long-armed, and powerfully made, 
like one accustomed to endure the fatigue of war or of 
the chase ; his face was broad, with large blue eyes, 
open and frank features, fine teeth, and a well-formed 
head, altogether expressive of that sort of good humour 
which often lodges with a sudden and hasty temper. 
Pride and jealousy there was in his eye, for his life 
had been spent in asserting rights which were con- 
stantly liable to invasion ; and the prompt, fiery, and 
resolute disposition of the man had been kept constantly 
upon the alert by the circumstances of his situation. 
His long yellow hair was equally divided on the top 
of his head and upon his brow, and combed down on 
each side to the length of his shoulders : it had but little 
tendency to gray, although Cedric was approaching 
to his sixtieth year. 

His dress was a tunic of forest green, furred at the 
throat and cuffs with what was called minever — a 
kind of fur inferior in quality to ermine, and formed, 
it is believed, of the skin of the gray squirrel. This 
doublet hung unbuttoned over a close dress of scarlet 
which sat tight to his body ; he had breeches of the 
same, but they did not reach below the lower part of 
the thigh, leaving the knee exposed. His feet had 
sandals of the same fashion with the peasants, but of 
finer materials, and secured in the front with golden 
clasps. He had bracelets of gold upon his arms, and 
a broad collar of the same precious metal around his 
neck. About his waist he wore a richly studded belt, 
in which was stuck a short, straight, two-edged sword, 
with a shaiq) point, so disposed as to hang almost 
perpendicularly by his side. Behind his seat was hung 
a scarlet cloth cloak lined with fur, and a cap of the 
same materials, richly embroidered, which completed 


so 


IVANHOE 


the dress of the opulent landholder when he chose to 
go forth. A short boar-spear, with a broad and bright 
steel head, also reclined against the back of his chair, 
which served him, when he walked abroad, for the pur- 
poses of a staff or of a weapon, as chance might require. 

Several domestics, whose dress held various propor- 
tions betwixt the richness of their master’s and the 
coarse and simple attire of Gurth, the swineherd, 
watched the looks and waited the commands of the 
Saxon dignitary. Two or three servants of a superior 
order stood behind their master upon the dais ; the 
rest occupied the lower part of the hall. Other attend- 
ants there were of a different description : two or three 
large and shaggy greyhounds, such as were then em- 
ployed in hunting the stag and wolf ; as many slow- 
hounds, of a large bony breed, with thick necks, large 
heads, and long ears ; and one or two of the smaller 
dogs, now called terriers, which waited with impatience 
the arrival of the supper; but, with the sagacious 
knowledge of physiognomy peculiar to their race, for- 
bore to intrude upon the moody silence of their master, 
apprehensive probably of a small white truncheon which 
lay by Cedric’s trencher, for the purpose of repelling 
the advances of his four-legged dependants. One grisly 
old wolf-dog alone, with the liberty of an indulged 
favourite, had planted himself close by the chair of 
state, and occasionally ventured to solicit notice by 
putting his large hairy head upon his master’s knee, 
or pushing his nose into his hand. Even he was re- 
pelled by the stem command, “Down, Balder — down! 
I am not in the humour for foolery.” 

In fact, Cedric, as we have observed, was in no very 
placid state of mind. The Lady Rowena, who had 
been absent to attend an evening mass at a distant 
church, had but just returned, and was changing her 
garments, which had been wetted by the storm. There 
was as yet no tidings of Gurth and his charge, which 


IVANHOE 


31 


should long since have been driven home from the 
forest ; and such was the insecurity of the period as 
to render it probable that the delay might be explained 
by some depredation of the outlaws, with whom the 
adjacent forest abounded, or by the violence of some 
neighbouring baron, whose consciousness of strength 
made him equally negligent of the laws of property. 
The matter was of consequence, for great part of the 
domestic wealth of the Saxon proprietors consisted in 
numerous herds of swine, especially in forest land, 
where those animals easily found their food. 

Besides these subjects of anxiety, the Saxon thane 
was impatient for the presence of his favourite clown, 
Wamba, whose jests, such as they were, served for a 
sort of seasoning to his evening meal, and to the deep 
draughts of ale and wine with which he was in the habit 
of accompanying it. Add to all this, Cedric had fasted 
since noon, and his usual supper hour was long past, 
a cause of irritation common to country squires, both 
in ancient and modem times. His displeasure was ex- 
pressed in broken sentences, partly muttered to him- 
self, partly addressed to the domestics who stood 
around ; and particularly to his cupbearer, who offered 
him from time to time, as a sedative, a silver goblet 
filled with wine — “Why tarries the Lady Rowena?” 

“ She is but changing her head-gear,” replied a 
female attendant, with as much confidence as the 
favourite lady’s-maid usually answers the master of 
a modem family ; “ you would not wish her to sit down 
to the banquet in her hood and kirtle? and no lady 
within the shire can be quicker in arraying herself 
than my mistress.” 

This undeniable argument produced a sort of ac- 
quiescent “Umph!” on the part of the Saxon, with 
the addition, “ I wish her devotion may choose fair 
weather for the next visit to St. John’s Kirk. But 
what, in the name of ten devils,” continued he, turning 


32 


IVANHOE 


to the cupbearer, and raising his voice, as if happy 
to have found a channel into which he might divert 
his indignation without fear or control — “what, in 
the name of ten devils, keeps Gurth so long a-field? 
I suppose we shall have an evil account of the herd ; 
he was wont to be a faithful and cautious drudge, and 
I had destined him for something better; perchance 
I might even have made him one of my warders.” 

Oswald, the cupbearer, modestly suggested, “ that it 
was scarce an hour since the tolling of the curfew” — 
an ill-chosen apology, since it turned upon a topic so 
harsh to Saxon ears. 

“The foul fiend,” exclaimed Cedric, “take the cur- 
few-bell, and the tyrannical bastard by whom it was de- 
vised, and the heartless slave who names it with a Saxon 
tongue to a Saxon ear ! The curfew ! ” he added, paus- 
ing — “ ay, the curfew, which compels true men to 
extinguish their lights, that thieves and robbers may 
work their deeds in darkness ! Ay, the curfew ! Regi- 
nald Front-de-Boeuf and Philip de Malvoisin know the 
use of the curfew as well as William the Bastard him- 
self, or e’er a Norman adventurer that fought at Hast- 
ings. I shall hear, I guess, that my property has 
been swept off to save from starving the hungry ban- 
ditti whom they cannot support but by theft and 
robbery. My faithful slave is murdered, and my 
goods are taken for a prey; and Wamba — where is 
Wamba.? Said not some one he had gone forth with 
Gurth .? ” 

Oswald replied in the affirmative. 

“ Ay ! why, this is better and better ! he is carried 
off too, the Saxon fool, to serve the Norman lord. 
Fools are we all indeed that serve them, and fitter sub- 
jects for their scorn and laughter than if w^e were born 
w'ith but half our wits. But I will be avenged,” he 
added, starting from his chair in impatience at the 
supposed injury, and catching hold of his boar-spear; 


IVANHOE 


33 


‘‘ I will go with my complaint to the great council. I 
have friends, I have followers ; man to man will I 
appeal the Nonnan to the lists. Let him come in his 
plate and his mail, and all that can render cowardice 
bold I have sent such a javelin as this through a 
stronger fence than three of their war shields ! Haply 
they think me old ; but they shall find, alone and child- 
less as I am, the blood of Hereward is in the veins of 
Cedric. Ah, Wilfred, Wilfred!” he exclaimed in a 
lower tone, “ couldst thou have ruled tliine unreason- 
able passion, thy father had not been left in his age 
like the solitary oak that throws out its shattered and 
unprotected branches against the full sweep of the 
tempest!” The reflection seemed to conjure into sad- 
ness his irritated feelings. Replacing his javelin, he 
resumed his seat, bent his looks downward, and ap- 
peared to be absorbed in melancholy reflection. 

From his musing, Cedric was suddenly awakened by 
the blast of a horn, wliich was replied to by the clamor- 
ous yells and barking of all the dogs in the hall, and 
some twenty or thirty which were quartered in other 
parts of the building. It cost some exercise of the 
white truncheon, well seconded by the exertions of the 
domestics, to silence this canine clamour. 

“To the gate, knaves!” said the Saxon, hastily, as 
soon as the tumult was so much appeased that the de- 
pendants could hear his voice. “ See what tidings that 
horn tells us of : to announce, I ween, some hership 
and robbery which has been done upon my lands.” 

Returning in less than three minutes, a warder an- 
nounced, “ That the Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx, and the 
good knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert, commander of 
the valiant and venerable order of Knights Templars, 
with a small retinue, requested hospitality and lodging 
for the night, being on their way to a tournament 
which was to be held not far from Ashby-de-la-Zouche 
on the second day from the present.” 

3 


34 


IVANHOE 


“Aymer — the Prior Aymer! Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert!” muttered Cedric — “Normans both; but 
Norman or Saxon, the hospitality of Rotherwood must 
not be impeached: they are welcome, since they have 
chosen to halt ; more welcome would they have been 
to have ridden farther on their way. But it were 
unworthy to murmur for a night’s lodging and a 
night’s food; in the quality of guests, at least, even 
Normans must suppress their insolence. Go, Hunde- 
bert,” he added, to a sort of major-domo who stood 
behind him with a white wand ; “ take six of the at- 
tendants and introduce the strangers to the guests’ 
lodging. Look after their horses and mules, and see 
their train lack nothing. Let them have change of 
vestments if they require it, and fire, and water to 
wash, and wine and ale; and bid the cooks add what 
they hastily can to our evening meal; and let it be 
put on the board when those strangers are ready 
to share it. Say to them, Hundebert, that Cedric 
would himself bid them welcome, but he is under 
a vow never to step more than three steps from the 
dais of his own hall to meet any who shares not 
the blood of Saxon royalty. Begone! see them care- 
fully tended; let them not say in their pride, the 
Saxon churl has shown at once his poverty and his 
avarice.” 

The major-domo departed with several attendants to 
execute his master’s commands. “ The Prior Aymer ! ” 
repeated Cedric, looking to Oswald, “the brother, if I 
mistake not, of Giles de Mauleverer, now lord of 
Middleham ? ” 

Oswald made a respectful sign of assent. “ His 
brother sits in the seat, and usurps the patrimony, of 
a better race — the race of Ulfgar of Middleham; but 
what Norman lord doth not the same.? This Prior is, 
they say, a free and jovial priest, who loves the wine- 
cup and the bugle-hom better than bell and book. 


IVANHOE 35 

Good ; let him come, he shall be welcome. How named 
ye the Templar 

“ Brian de Bois-Guilbert.” 

“ Bois-Guilbert ! ” said Cedric, still in the musing, 
half-arguing tone which the habit of living among de- 
pendants had accustomed him to employ, and which 
resembled a man who talks to himself rather than to 
those around him — “Bois-Guilbert! That name has 
been spread wide both for good and evil. They say he 
is valiant as the bravest of his order ; but stained with 
their usual vices — pride, arrogance, cruelty, and volup- 
tuousness — a hard-hearted man, who knows neither 
fear of earth nor awe of heaven. So say the few war- 
riors who have returned from Palestine. Well, it is 
but for one night ; he shall be welcome too. Oswald, 
broach the oldest wine-cask; place the best mead, the 
mightiest ale, the richest morat, the most sparkling 
cider, the most odoriferous pigments upon the board; 
fill the largest horns: Templars and abbots love good 
wines and good measure. Elgitha, let thy lady Rowena 
know we shall not this night expect her in the hall, 
unless such be her especial pleasure.” 

“ But it will be her especial pleasure,” answered 
Elgitha, with great readiness, “ for she is ever desirous 
to hear the latest news from Palestine.” 

Cedric darted at the forward damsel a glance of 
hasty resentment; but Rowena and whatever belonged 
to her were privileged, and secure from his anger. He 
only replied, “ Silence, maiden ; thy tongue outruns thy 
discretion. Say my message to thy mistress, and let 
her do her pleasure. Here, at least, the descendant of 
Alfred still reigns a princess.” Elgitha left the 
apartment. 

“ Palestine ! ” repeated the Saxon — “ Palestine I how 
many ears are turned to the tales which dissolute 
crusaders or hypocritical pilgrims bring from that 
fatal land! I too might ask — I too might inquire — 


36 


IVANHOE 


I too might listen with a beating heart to fables which 
the wily strollers devise to cheat us into hospitality ; 
but no — the son who has disobeyed me is no longer 
mine; nor will I concern myself more for his fate than 
for that of the most worthless among the millions that 
ever shaped the cross on their shoulder, rushed into 
excess and blood-guiltiness, and called it an accom- 
plishment of the will of God.” 

He knit his brows, and fixed his eyes for an instant 
on the ground; as he raised them, the folding doors 
at the bottom of the hall were cast wide, and preceded 
by the major-domo with his wand, and four domestics 
bearing blazing torches, the guests of the evening en- 
tered the apartment. 


CHAPTER IV 

With sheep and shaggy goats the porkers bled. 

And the proud steer was on the marble spread ; 

With fire prepared, they deal the morsels round, 

Wine rosy bright the brimming goblets crown’d. 

Disposed apart, Ulysses shares the treat ; 

A trivet table and ignobler seat. 

The Prince assigns — 

Odyssey, Book XXI. 

T he Prior Aymer had taken the opportunity 
afforded him of changing his riding robe for 
one of yet more costly materials, over which he 
wore a cope curiously embroidered. Besides the mas- 
sive golden signet ring which marked his ecclesiastical 
dignity, his fingers, though contrary to the canon, were 
loaded with precious gems ; his sandals were of the 
finest leather which was imported from Spain; his 
beard trimmed to as small dimensions as his order 


IVANHOE 


37 


would possibly permit, and his shaven crown concealed 
by a scarlet cap richly embroidered. 

The appearance of the Knight Templar was also 
changed; and, though less studiously bedecked with 
ornament, his dress was as rich, and his appearance far 
more commanding, than that of his companion. He 
had exchanged his shirt of mail for an under tunic of 
dark purple silk, garnished with furs, over which flowed 
his long robe of spotless white in ample folds. The 
eight-pointed cross of his order was cut on the shoulder 
of his mantle in black velvet. The high cap no longer 
invested his brows, which were only shaded by short 
and thick curled hair of a raven blackness, correspond- 
ing to his unusually swart complexion. Nothing could 
be more gracefully majestic than his step and manner, 
had they not been marked by a predominant air of 
haughtiness, easily acquired by the exercise of unre- 
sisted authority. 

These two dignifled persons were followed by their 
respective attendants, and at a more humble distance 
by their guide, whose figure had nothing more remark- 
able than it derived from the usual weeds of a pilgrim. 
A cloak or mantle of coarse black serge enveloped his 
whole body. It was in shape something like the cloak 
of a modern hussar, having similar flaps for covering 
the arms, and was called a “ sclaveyn,” or “ sclavonian.” 
Coarse sandals, bound with thongs, on his bare feet; 
a broad and shadowy hat, with cockle-shells stitched 
on its brim, and a long staff shod with iron, to the 
upper end of which was attached a branch of palm, 
completed the Palmer’s attire. He followed modestly 
the last of the train which entered the hall, and, ob- 
serving that the lower table scarce afforded room suffi- 
cient for the domestics of Cedric and the retinue of his 
guests, he withdrew to a settle placed beside, and 
almost under, one of the large chimneys, and seemed 
to employ himself in drying his garments, until the 


38 


IVANHOE 


retreat of some one should make room at the board, 
or the hospitality of the steward should supply him 
with refreshments in the place he had chosen apart. 

Cedric rose to receive his guests with an air of 
dignified hospitality, and, descending from the dais, 
or elevated part of his hall, made three steps towards 
them, and then awaited their approach. 

“ I grieve,” he said, “ reverend Prior, that my vow 
binds me to advance no farther upon this floor of my 
fathers, even to receive such guests as you and this 
valiant Knight of the Holy Temple. But my steward 
has expounded to you the cause of my seeming dis- 
courtesy. Let me also pray that you will excuse my 
speaking to you in my native language, and that you 
will reply in the same if your knowledge of it permits ; 
if not, I sufficiently understand Norman to follow your 
meaning.” 

“Vows,” said the Abbot, “must be unloosed, worthy 
franklin, or permit me rather to say, worthy thane, 
though the title is antiquated. Vows are the knots 
which tie us to Heaven — they are the cords which bind 
the sacrifice to the horns of the altar — and are there- 
fore, as I said before, to be unloosened and discharged, 
unless our Holy Mother Church shall pronounce the 
contrary. And respecting language, I willingly hold 
communication in that spoken by my respected grand- 
mother, Hilda of Middleham, who died in odour of 
sanctity, little short, if we may presume to say so, 
of her glorious namesake, the blessed Saint Hilda of 
Whitby — God be gracious to her soul!” 

When the Prior had ceased what he meant as a 
conciliatory harangue, his companion said briefly and 
emphatically, “I speak ever French, the language of 
King Richard and his nobles ; but I understand Eng- 
lish sufllciently to communicate with the natives of the 
country.” 

Cedric darted at the speaker one of those hasty and 


IVANHOE 


39 


impatient glances which comparisons between the two 
rival nations seldom failed to call forth ; but, recollect- 
ing the duties of hospitality, he suppressed further 
show of resentment, and, motioning with his hand, 
caused his guests to assume two seats a little lower 
than his own, but placed close beside him, and gave 
a signal that the evening meal should be placed upon 
the board. 

While the attendants hastened to obey Cedric’s com- 
mands, his eye distinguished Gurth, the swineherd, who, 
with his companion Wamba, had just entered the hall. 
“ Send these loitering knaves up hither,” said the Saxon, 
impatiently. And when the culprits came before the 
dais — “ How comes it, villains, that ye have loitered 
abroad so late as this.?* Hast thou brought home thy 
charge, sirrah Gurth, or hast thou left them to robbers 
and marauders ? ” 

“ The herd is safe, so please ye,” said Gurth. 

“ But it does not please me, thou knave,” said Cedric, 
“ that I should be made to suppose otherwise for two 
hours, and sit here devising vengeance against my 
neighbours for wrongs they have not done me. I tell 
thee, shackles and the prison-house shall punish the 
next offence of this kind.” 

Gurth, knowing his master’s irritable temper, at- 
tempted no exculpation ; but the Jester, who could pre- 
sume upon Cedric’s tolerance, by virtue of his privileges 
as a fool, replied for them both — “ In troth, uncle 
Cedric, you are neither wise nor reasonable to-night.” 

“How, sir!” said his master; “you shall to the 
porter’s lodge and taste of the discipline there if you 
give your foolery such license.” 

“First let your wisdom tell me,” said Wamba, “is it 
just and reasonable to punish one person for the fault 
of another.?^” 

“ Certainly not, fool,” answered Cedric. 

“Then why should you shackle poor Gurth, uncle. 


40 


IVANHOE 


for the fault of his dog Fangs? for I dare be sworn we 
lost not a minute by the way, when we had got our 
herd together, which Fangs did not manage until we 
heard the vesper-bell.” 

“ Then hang up Fangs,” said Cedric, turning hastily 
towards the swineherd, “ if the fault is his, and get thee 
another dog.” 

“Under favour, uncle,” said the Jester, “that were 
still somewhat on the bow-hand of fair justice; for it 
was no fault of Fangs that he was lame and could not 
gather the herd, but the fault of those that struck off 
two of his fore-claws, an operation for whichj if the 
poor fellow had been consulted, he would scarce have 
given his voice.” 

“And who dared to lame an animal which belonged 
to my bondsman?” said the Saxon, kindling in wrath. 

“Marry, that did old Hubert,” said Wamba, “Sir 
Philip de Malvoisin’s keeper of the chase. He caught 
Fangs strolling in the forest, and said he chased the 
deer contrary to his master’s right, as warden of the 
walk.” 

“ The foul fiend take Malvoisin,” answered the Saxon, 
“ and his keeper both ! I will teach them that the wood 
was disforested in terms of the great Forest Charter. 
But enough of this. Go to, knave, — go to thy place ; 
and thou, Gurth, get thee another dog, and should 
the keeper dare to touch it, I will mar his archery ; the 
curse of a coward on my head, if I strike not off the 
forefinger of his right hand! he shall draw bowstring 
no more. I crave your pardon, my worthy guests. I 
am beset here with neighbours that match your infidels. 
Sir Knight, in Holy Land. But your homely fare is 
before you ; feed, and let welcome make amends for 
hard fare.” 

The feast, however, which was spread upon the board 
needed no apologies from the lord of the mansion. 
Swine’s flesh, dressed in several modes, appeared on 


IVANHOE 


41 


the lower part of the board, as also that of fowls, deer, 
goats, and hares, and various kinds of fish, together 
with huge loaves and cakes of bread, and sundry con- 
fections made of fruits and honey. The smaller sorts 
of wild-fowl, of which there was abundance, were not 
served up in platters, but brought in upon small wooden 
spits or broaches, and offered by the pages and domes- 
tics who bore them to each guest in succession, who cut 
from them such a portion as he pleased. Beside each 
person of rank was placed a goblet of silver ; the lower 
board was accommodated with large drinking-horns. 

When the repast was about to commence, the major- 
domo, or steward, suddenly raising his wand, said aloud, 
“Forbear! Place for the Lady Rowena.” A side- 
door at the upper end of the hall now opened behind 
the banquet table, and Rowena, followed by four female 
attendants, entered the apartment. Cedric, though sur- 
prised, and perhaps not altogether agreeably so, at 
his ward appearing in public on this occasion, hastened 
to meet her, and to conduct her, with respectful cere- 
mony, to the elevated seat at his own right hand ap- 
propriated to the lady of the mansion. All stood up 
to receive her; and, replying to their courtesy by a 
mute gesture of salutation, she moved gracefully for- 
ward to assume her place at the board. Ere she had 
time to do so, the Templar whispered to the Prior, 
“ I shall wear no collar of gold of yours at the tourna- 
ment. The Chian wine is your own.” 

“Said I not so.?^” answered the Prior; “but check 
your raptures, the franklin observes you.” 

Unheeding this remonstrance, and accustomed only 
to act upon the immediate impulse of his own wishes, 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert kept his eyes riveted on the 
Saxon beauty, more striking perhaps to his imagina- 
f;ion because differing widely from those of the Eastern 
sultanas. 

Formed in the best proportions of her sex, Rowena 


42 


IVANHOE 


was tall in stature, yet not so much so as to attract ob- 
servation on account of superior height. Her complex- 
ion was exquisitely fair, but the noble cast of her head 
and features prevented the insipidity which sometimes 
attaches to fair beauties. Her clear blue eye, which 
sat enshrined beneath a graceful eyebrow of brown, 
sufficiently marked to give expression to the forehead, 
seemed capable to kindle as well as melt, to command 
as well as to beseech. If mildness were the more natural 
expression of such a combination of features, it was 
plain that, in the present instance, the exercise of 
habitual superiority, and the reception of general 
homage, had given to the Saxon lady a loftier char- 
acter, which mingled with and qualified that bestowed 
by nature. Her profuse hair, of a colour betwixt 
brown and flaxen, was arranged in a fanciful and 
graceful manner in numerous ringlets, to form which 
art had probably aided nature. These locks were 
braided with gems, and being worn at full length, 
intimated the noble and free-bom condition of the 
maiden. A golden chain, to which was attached a 
small reliquary of the same metal, hung round her 
neck. She wore bracelets on her arms, which were bare. 
Her dress was an under-gown and kirtle of pale sea- 
green silk, over which hung a long loose robe, which 
reached to the ground, having very wide sleeves, which 
came down, however, very little below the elbow. This 
robe was crimson, and manufactured out of the very 
finest wool. A veil of silk, interwoven with gold, was 
attached to the upper part of it, which could be, at 
the wearer’s pleasure, either drawn over the face and 
bosom after the Spanish fashion, or disposed as a 
sort of drapery round the shoulders. 

When Rowena perceived the Knight Templar’s eyes 
bent on her with an ardour that, compared with the 
dark caverns under which they moved, gave them 
the effect of lighted charcoal, she drew with dignity the 


IVANHOE 


43 


veil around her face, as an intimation that the deter- 
mined freedom of his glance was disagreeable. 

Cedric saw the motion and its cause. “ Sir Templar,” 
said he, “the cheeks of our Saxon maidens have seen 
too little of the sun to enable them to bear the fixed 
glance of a crusader.” 

“ If I have offended,” replied Sir Brian, “ I crave 
your pardon — that is, I crave the Lady Rowena’s 
pardon, for my humility will carry me no lower.” 

“ The Lady Rowena,” said the Prior, “ has pun- 
ished us all, in chastising the boldness of my friend. 
Let me hope she will be less cruel to the splendid train 
which are to meet at the tournament.” 

“ Our going thither,” said Cedric, “ is uncertain. 
I love not these vanities, which were unknown to my 
fathers when England was free.” 

“ Let us hope, nevertheless,” said the Prior, “ our 
company may determine you to travel thitherward; 
when the roads are so unsafe, the escort of Sir Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert is not to be despised.” 

“ Sir Prior,” answered the Saxon, “ wheresoever I 
have travelled in this land, I have hitherto found 
myself, with the assistance of my good sword and faith- 
ful followers, in no respect needful of other aid. At 
present, if we need journey to Ashby-de-la-Zouche, 
we do so with my noble neighbour and countryman, 
Athelstane of Coningsburgh, and with such a train 
as would set outlaws and feudal enemies at defiance. 
I drink to you. Sir Prior, in this cup of wine, which I 
trust your taste will approve, and I thank you for 
your courtesy. Should you be so rigid in adhering 
to monastic rule,” he added, “ as to prefer your acid 
preparation of milk, I hope you will not strain courtesy 
to do me reason.” 

“Nay,” said the Priest, laughing, “it is only in 
our abbey that we confine ourselves to the lac dulce or 
the lac acidum either. Conversing with the world, we 


44 


IVANHOE 


use the world’s fashions, and therefore I answer your 
pledge in this honest wine, and leave the weaker liquor 
to my lay-brother.” 

“ And I,” said the Templar, filling his goblet, 
“ drink wassail to the fair Rowena ; for since her name- 
sake introduced the word into England, has never been 
one more worthy of such a tribute. By my faith, I 
could pardon the unhappy Vortigern, had he half the 
cause that we now witness for making shipwreck of 
his honour and his kingdom.” 

“ I will spare your courtesy. Sir Knight,” said 
Rowena with dignity, and without unveiling herself; 
“or rather I will tax it so far as to require of you the 
latest news from Palestine, a theme more agreeable to 
our English ears than the comphments which your 
French breeding teaches.” 

“ I have little of importance to say, lady,” answered 
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, “ excepting the confirmed 
tidings of a truce with Saladin.” 

He was interrupted by Wamba, who had taken his 
appropriated seat upon a chair the back of which was 
decorated with two ass’s ears, and which was placed 
about two steps behind that of his master, who, from 
time to time, supplied him with victuals from his own 
trencher; a favour, however, which the Jester shared 
with the favourite dogs, of whom, as we have already 
noticed, there were several in attendance. Here sat 
Wamba, with a small table before him, his heels tucked 
up against the bar of the chair, his cheeks sucked up 
so as to make his jaws resemble a pair of nut-crackers, 
and his eyes half-shut, yet watching with alertness 
every opportunity to exercise his licensed foolery. 

“ These truces with the infidels,” he exclaimed, with- 
out caring how suddenly he interrupted the stately 
Templar, “make an old man of me!” 

“Go to, knave — how so.?” said Cedric, his features 
prepared to receive favourably the expected jest. 


IVANHOE 


45 


“Because,” answered Wamba, “I remember three 
of them in my day, each of which was to endure for 
the course of fifty years; so that, by computation, I 
must be at least a hundred and fifty years old.” 

“ I will warrant you against dying of old age, how- 
ever,” said the Templar, who now recognized his friend 
of the forest ; “ I will assure you from all deaths but a 
violent one, if you give such directions to wayfarers as 
you did this night to the Prior and me.” 

“How, sirrah!” said Cedric, “misdirect travellers.? 
We must have you whipt; you are at least as much 
rogue as fool.” 

“ I pray thee, uncle,” answered the Jester, “ let my 
folly for once protect my roguery. I did but make a 
mistake between my right hand and my left; and he 
might have pardoned a greater who took a fool for his 
counsellor and guide.” 

Conversation was here interrupted by the entrance 
of the porter’s page, who announced that there was 
a stranger at the gate, imploring admittance and 
hospitality. 

“Admit him,” said Cedric, “be he who or what he 
may: a night like that which roars without compels 
even wild animals to herd with tame, and to seek the 
protection of man, their mortal foe, rather than perish 
by the elements. Let his wants be ministered to with 
all care ; look to it, Oswald.” 

And the steward left the banqueting-hall to see the 
commands of his patron obeyed. 


46 


IVANHOE 


CHAPTER V 


Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, 
senses, altections, passions? Fed with the same fo^, hurt with the 
same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, 
warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, ^ a Christian 
is ? — Merchant of V enice. 

SWALD, returning, whispered into the ear of 



his master, “ It is a Jew, who calls himself 


Isaac of York; is it fit I should marshal him 
into the hall?” 

“Let Gurth do thine office, Oswald,” said Wamba 
with his usual effrontery: “the swineherd will be a fit 
usher to the Jew.” 

“ Saint Mary,” said the Abbot, crossing himself, 
“ an unbelieving J ew, and admitted into this presence ! ” 

“A dog Jew,” echoed the Templar, “to approach 
a defender of the Holy Sepulchre?” 

“By my faith,” said Wamba, “it would seem the 
Templars love the Jews’ inheritance better than they 
do their company.” 

“ Peace, my worthy guests,” said Cedric ; “ my 
hospitality must not be bounded by your dislikes. If 
Heaven bore with the whole nation of stiff-necked un- 
believers for more years than a layman can number, we 
may endure the presence of one Jew for a few hours. 
But I constrain no man to converse or to feed with him. 
Let him have a board and a morsel apart, — unless,” 
he said, smiling, “these turban’d strangers will admit 
his society.” 

“ Sir Franklin,” answered the Templar, “ my Saracen 
slaves are true Moslems, and scorn as much as any 
Christian to hold intercourse with a Jew.” 

“Now, in faith,” said Wamba, “I cannot see that 
the worshippers of Mahound and Termagaunt have 


IVANHOE 47 

so greatly the advantage over the people once chosen 
of Heaven.” 

“ He shall sit with thee, Wamba,” said Cedric ; “ the 
fool and the knave will be well met.” 

“The fool,” answered Wamba, raising the rehcs of 
a gammon of bacon, “ will take care to erect a bulwark 
against the knave.” 

“ Hush,” said Cedric, “ for here he comes.” 

Introduced with little ceremony, and advancing with 
fear and hesitation, and many a bow of deep humility, 
a tall thin old man, who, however, had lost by the habit 
of stooping much of his actual height, approached the 
lower end of the board. His features, keen and regular, 
with an aquihne nose, and piercing black eyes ; his 
high and wrinkled forehead, and long gray hair and 
beard, would have been considered as handsome, had 
they not been the marks of a physiognomy pecuhar to a 
race which, during those dark ages, was alike detested 
by the credulous and prejudiced vulgar, and persecuted 
by the greedy and rapacious nobility, and who, per- 
haps owing to that very hatred and persecution, had 
adopted a national character in which there was much, 
to say the least, mean and unamiable. 

The Jew’s dress, which appeared to have suffered 
considerably from the storm, was a plain russet cloak 
of many folds, covering a dark purple tunic. He had 
large boots lined with fur, and a belt around his waist, 
which sustained a small knife, together with a case for 
writing materials, but no weapon. He wore a high 
square yellow cap of a peculiar fashion, assigned to 
his nation to distinguish them from Christians, and 
which he doffed with great humility at the door of the 
hall. 

The reception of this person in the hall of Cedric 
thb Saxon was such as might have satisfied the most 
prejudiced enemy of the tribes of Israel. Cedric 
himself coldly nodded in answer to the Jew’s repeated 


48 


IVANHOE 


salutations, and signed to him to take place at the lower 
end of the table, where, however, no one offered to make 
room for him. On the contrary, as he passed along 
the file, casting a timid, supplicating glance, and turn- 
ing towards each of those who occupied the lower 
end of the board, the Saxon domestics squared their 
shoulders, and continued to devour their supper with 
great perseverance, paying not the least attention to 
the wants of the new guest. The attendants of the 
Abbot crossed themselves, with looks of pious horror, 
and the very heathen Saracens, as Isaac drew near 
them, curled up their whiskers with indignation, and i 
laid their hands on their poniards, as if ready to rid | 
themselves by the most desperate means from the ap- 
prehended contamination of his nearer approach. 

Probably the same motives which induced Cedric to | 
open his hall to this son of a rejected people would 
have made him insist on his attendants receiving Isaac 
with more courtesy ; but the Abbot had at this moment 
engaged him in a most interesting discussion on the 
breed and character of his favourite hounds, which he 
would not have interrupted for matters of much greater 
importance than that of a Jew going to bed supperless, i 
While Isaac thus stood an outcast in the present so- * 
ciety, like his people among the nations, looking in j 
vain for welcome or resting-place, the Pilgrim, who sat j 
by the chimney, took compassion upon him, and re- | 
signed his seat, saying briefly, “ Old man, my gar- | 
ments are dried, my hunger is appeased ; thou art both | 
wet and fasting.” So saying, he gathered together 
and brought to a flame the decaying brands which lay 1 
scattered on the ample hearth ; took from the larger i 
board a mess of pottage and seethed kid, placed it upon j 
the small table at which he had himself supped, and, 
without waiting the Jew’s thanks, went to the other side ! 
of the hall, whether from unwillingness to hold more I 
close communication with the object of his benevolence, ! 


IVANHOE 


49 


or from a wish to draw near to the upper end of the 
table, seemed uncertain. 

Had there been painters in those days capable to 
execute such a subject, the Jew, as he bent his withered 
form and expanded his chilled and trembling hands 
over the fire, would have, formed no bad emblematical 
personification of the Winter season. Having dispelled 
the cold, he turned eagerly to the smoking mess which 
was placed before him, and ate with a haste and an 
apparent relish that seemed to betoken long abstinence 
from food. 

Meanwhile the Abbot and Cedric continued their dis- 
course upon hunting ; the Lady Rowena seemed engaged 
in conversation with one of her attendant females ; and 
the haughty Templar, whose eye wandered from the 
Jew to the Saxon beauty, revolved in his mind thoughts 
which appeared deeply to interest him. 

“ I marvel, worthy Cedric,” said the Abbot, as their 
discourse proceeded, “that, great as your predilection 
is for your own manly language, you do not receive 
the Norman-French into your favour, so far at least 
as the mystery of woodcraft and hunting is concerned. 
Surely no tongue is so rich in the various phrases which 
the field-sports demand, or furnishes means to the ex- 
perienced woodman so well to express his jovial art.” 

“Good Father Aymer,” said the Saxon, “be it 
known to you, I care not for those over-sea refinements, 
without which I can well enough take my pleasure in 
the woods. I can wind my horn, though I call not the 
blast either a recheate or a morte; I can cheer my dogs 
on the prey, and I can flay and quarter the animal 
when it is brought down, without using the new-fangled 
jargon of curee, arhor, nombles, and all the babble of 
the fabulous Sir Tristrem.” 

“The French,” said the Templar, raising his voice 
with the presumptuous and authoritative tone which 
he used upon all occasions, “is not only the natural 

4 


50 


IVANHOE 


language of the chase, but that of love and war, in 
which ladies should be won and enemies defied.” 

“Pledge me in a cup of wine. Sir Templar,” said 
Cedric, “and fill another to the Abbot, while I look 
back some thirty years to tell you another tale. As 
Cedric the Saxon then was, his plain English tale needed 
no garnish from French troubadours when it was told 
in the ear of beauty; and the field of Northallerton, 
upon the day of the Holy Standard, could tell whether 
the Saxon war-cry was not heard as far within the 
ranks of the Scottish host as the cri de guerre of the 
boldest Norman baron. To the memory of the brave 
who fought there ! Pledge me, my guests.” He drank 
deep, and went on with increasing warmth — “ Ay, that 
was a day of cleaving of shields, when a hundred ban- 
ners were bent forwards over the heads of the valiant, 
and blood flowed round like water, and death was held 
better than flight. A Saxon bard had called it a feast 
of the swords — a gathering of the eagles to the prey 

— the clashing of bills upon shield and helmet, the 
shouting of battle more joyful than the clamour of a 
bridal. But our bards are no more,” he said; “our 
deeds are lost in those of another race; our language 

— our very name — is hastening to decay, and none 
mourns for it save one solitary old man. Cupbearer! 
knave, fill the goblets. To the strong in arms. Sir 
Templar, be their race or language what it will, who 
now bear them best in Palestine among the champions 
of the Cross 1 ” 

“ It becomes not one wearing this badge to answer,” 
said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert ; “ yet to whom, besides 
the sworn champions of the Holy Sepulchre, can the 
palm be assigned among the champions of the Cross ” 

“ To the Knights Hospitallers,” said the Abbot ; “ I 
have a brother of their order.” 

“I impeach not their fame,” said the Templar; 
“ nevertheless — ” 


IVANHOE 


51 


“ I think, friend Cedric,” said Wamba, interfering, 
‘‘ that had Richard of the Lion’s Heart been wise 
enough to have taken a fool’s advice, he might have 
stayed at home with his merry Englishmen, and left the 
recovery of Jerusalem to those same knights who had 
most to do with the loss of it.” 

“Were there, then, none in the English army,” said 
the Lady Rowena, “whose names are worthy to be 
mentioned with the Knights of the Temple and of 
St. John.?” 

“Forgive me, lady,” replied De Bois-Guilbert ; “the 
English monarch did indeed bring to Palestine a host 
of gallant warriors, second only to those whose breasts 
have been the unceasing bulwark of that blessed land.” 

“ Second to none,” said the Pilgrim, who had stood 
near enough to hear, and had listened to this conversa- 
tion with marked impatience. All turned towards the 
spot from whence this unexpected asseveration was 
heard. “ I say,” repeated the Pilgrim in a firm and 
strong voice, “ that the English chivalry were second 
to NONE who ever drew sword in defence of the Holy 
Land. I say besides, for I saw it, that King Richard 
himself, and five of his knights, held a tournament after 
the taking of St. John-de-Acre, as challengers against 
all comers. I say that, on that day, each knight ran 
three courses, and cast to the ground three antagonists. 
I add, that seven of these assailants were Knights of 
the Temple ; and Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert well knows 
the truth of what I tell you.” 

It is impossible for language to describe the bitter 
scowl of rage which rendered yet darker the swarthy 
countenance of the Templar. In the extremity of his 
resentment and confusion, his quivering fingers griped 
towards the handle of his sword, and perhaps only 
withdrew from the consciousness that no act of violence 
could be safely executed in that place and presence. 
Cedric, whose feelings were all of a right onward and 


52 


IVANHOE 


simple kind, and were seldom occupied by more than 
one object at once, omitted, in the joyous glee with 
which he heard of the glory of his countrymen, to re- 
mark the angry confusion of his guest. “ I would give 
thee this golden bracelet. Pilgrim,” he said, “ Couldst 
thou tell me the names of those knights who upheld 
so gallantly the renown of merry England.” 

“ That will I do blithely,” replied the Pilgrim, “ and 
without guerdon ; my oath, for a time, prohibits me 
from touching gold.” 

“ I will wear the bracelet for you, if you will, friend 
Palmer,” said Wamba. 

“ The first in honour as in arms, in renown as in 
place,” said the Pilgrim, “ was the brave Richard, King 
of England.” 

“I forgive him,” said Cedric — “I forgive him his 
descent from the tyrant Duke William.” 

“ The Earl of Leicester was the second,” continued 
the Pilgrim. “ Sir Thomas Multon of Gilsland was the 
third.” 

“ Of Saxon descent, he at least,” said Cedric, with 
exultation. 

“ Sir Foulk Doilly the fourth,” proceeded the Pil- 
grim. 

“ Saxon also, at least by the mother’s side,” con- 
tinued Cedric, who listened with the utmost eagerness, 
and forgot, in part at least, his hatred to the Nor- 
mans in the common triumph of the King of Eng- 
land and his islanders. “And who was the fifth.f^” he 
demanded. 

“ The fifth was Sir Edwin Tumeham.” 

“ Genuine Saxon, by the soul of Hengist ! ” shouted 
Cedric. “ And the sixth ? ” he continued with eagerness 
— “how name you the sixth.?” 

“ The sixth,” said the Palmer, after a pause, in which 
he seemed to recollect himself, “was a young knight 
of lesser renown and lower rank, assumed into that 


IVANHOE 


53 


honourable company less to aid their enterprise than 
to make up their number ; his name dwells not in my 
memory.” 

“ Sir Palmer,” said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
scornfully, “ this assumed forgetfulness, after so much 
has been remembered, comes too late to serve your pur- 
pose. I will myself tell the name of the knight before 
whose lance fortune and my horse’s fault occasioned 
my falling: it was the Knight of Ivanhoe; nor was 
there one of the six that, for his years, had more re- 
nown in arms. Yet this will I say, and loudly — that 
were he in England, and durst repeat, in this week’s 
tournament, the challenge of St. John-de-Acre, I, 
mounted and armed as I now am, would give him every 
advantage of weapons, and abide the result.” 

“Your challenge would be soon answered,” replied 
the Palmer, “ were your antagonist near you. As the 
matter is, disturb not the peaceful hall with vaunts of 
the issue of a conflict which you well know cannot take 
place. If Ivanhoe ever returns from Palestine, I will 
be his surety that he meets you.” 

“A goodly security!” said the Knight Templar; 
“and what do you proffer as a pledge.?” 

“This reliquary,” said the Palmer, taking a small 
ivory box from his bosom, and crossing himself, “ con- 
taining a portion of the true cross, brought from the 
monastery of Mount Carmel.” 

The Prior of Jorvaulx crossed himself and repeated 
a paternoster, in which all devoutly joined, excepting 
the Jew, the Mahomedans, and the Templar ; the latter 
of whom, without vailing his bonnet or testifying any 
reverence for the alleged sanctity of the relic, took from 
his neck a gold chain, which he flung on the board, say- 
ing, “ Let Prior Aymer hold my pledge and that of this 
nameless vagrant, in token that, when the Knight of 
Ivanhoe comes within the four seas of Britain, he under- 
lies the challenge of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, which, if 


54 


rVANHOE 


he answer not, I will proclaim him as a coward on the 
walls of every Temple court in Europe.” 

“ It will not need,” said the Lady Rowena, breaking 
silence: “ my voice shall be heard, if no other in this 
hall is raised, in behalf of the absent Ivanhoe. I affirm 
he will meet fairly every honourable challenge. Could 
my weak warrant add security to the inestimable pledge 
of this holy pilgrim, I would pledge name and fame 
that Ivanhoe gives this proud knight the meeting he 
desires.” 

A crowd of conflicting emotions seemed to have occu- 
pied Cedric and kept him silent during this discussion. 
Gratifled pride, resentment, embarrassment, chased each 
other over his broad and open brow, like the shadow 
of clouds drifting over a harvest-field; while his at- 
tendants, on whom the name of the sixth knight seemed 
to produce an effect almost electrical, hung in suspense 
upon their master’s looks. But when Rowena spoke, 
the sound of her voice seemed to startle him from his 
silence. 

“Lady,” said Cedric, “this beseems not; were fur- 
ther pledge necessary, I myself, offended, and justly 
offended, as I am, would yet gage my honour for the 
honour of Ivanhoe. But the wager of battle is com- 
plete, even according to the fantastic fashions of Nor- 
man chivalry. Is it not. Father Aymer.?” 

“ It is,” replied the Prior ; “ and the blessed relic and 
rich chain will I bestow safely in the treasury of our 
convent, until the decision of this warlike challenge.” 

Having thus spoken, he crossed himself again and 
again, and after many genuflections and muttered 
prayers, he delivered the reliquary to Father Ambrose, 
his attendant monk, while he himself swept up with less 
ceremony, but perhaps with no less internal satisfac- 
tion, the golden chain, and bestowed it in a pouch lined 
with perfumed leather, which opened under his arm. 
“ And now. Sir Cedric,” he said, “ my ears are chiming 


IVANHOE 


55 


vespers with the strength of your good wine : permit us 
another pledge to the welfare of the Lady Rowena, and 
indulge us with liberty to pass to our repose.” 

“ By the rood of Bromholme,” said the Saxon, “ you 
do but small credit to your fame, Sir Prior ! Report 
speaks you a bonny monk, that would hear the matin 
chime ere he quitted his bowl; and, old as I am, I 
feared to have shame in encountering you. But, by my 
faith, a Saxon boy of twelve, in my time, would not so 
soon have relinquished his goblet.” 

The Prior had his own reasons, however, for per- 
severing in the course of temperance which he had 
adopted. He was not only a professional peacemaker, 
but from practice a hater of all feuds and brawls. It 
was not altogether from a love to his neighbour, or to 
himself, or from a mixture of both. On the present 
occasion, he had an instinctive apprehension of the 
fiery temper of the Saxon, and saw the danger that the 
reckless and presumptuous spirit of which his com- 
panion had already given so many proofs might at 
length produce some disagreeable explosion. He there- 
fore gently insinuated the incapacity of the native of 
any other country to engage in the genial conflict of 
the bowl with the hardy and strong-headed Saxons ; 
something he mentioned, but slightly, about his own 
holy character, and ended by pressing his proposal to 
depart to repose. 

The grace-cup was accordingly served round, and 
the guests, after making deep obeisance to their land- 
lord and to the Lady Rowena, arose and mingled in the 
hall, while the heads of the family, by separate doors, 
retired with their attendants. 

“Unbelieving dog,” said the Templar to Isaac the 
Jew, as he passed him in the throng, “ dost thou bend 
thy course to the tournament ” 

“ I do so propose,” replied Isaac, bowing in all 
humility, “if it please your reverend valour.” 


56 


IVANHOE 


“ Ay,” said the Knight, ‘‘ to gnaw the bowels of our 
nobles with usury, and to gull women and boys with 
gauds and toys : I warrant thee store of shekels in thy 
Jewish scrip.” 

“ Not a shekel, not a silver penny, not a halfling, so 
help me the God of Abraham ! ” said the Jew, clasping 
his hands. “ I go but to seek the assistance of some 
brethren of my tribe to aid me to pay the fine which the 
Exchequer of the Jews have imposed upon me. Father 
Jacob be my speed! I am an impoverished wretch: the 
very gaberdine I wear is borrowed from Reuben of 
Tadcaster.” 

The Templar smiled sourly as he replied, “ Beshrew 
thee for a false-hearted liar!” and passing onward, as 
if disdaining further conference, he communed with his 
Moslem slaves in a language unknown to the by- 
standers. The poor Israelite seemed so staggered by 
the address of the military monk, that the Templar had 
passed on to the extremity of the hall ere he raised his 
head from the humble posture which he had assumed, 
so far as to be sensible of his departure. And when he 
did look around, it was with the astonished air of one 
at whose feet a thunderbolt has just burst, and who 
hears still the astounding report ringing in his ears. 

The Templar and Prior were shortly after mar- 
shalled to their sleeping apartments by the steward and 
the cupbearer, each attended by two torch-bearers and 
two servants carrying refreshments, while servants of 
inferior condition indicated to their retinue and to the 
other guests their respective places of repose. 


IVANHOE 


57 


CHAPTER VI 

To buy his favour I extend this friendship : 

If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; 

And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not. 

Merchant of Venice, 

As the Palmer, lighted by a domestic with a torch, 
passed through the intricate combination of 
•A ^ apartments of this large and irregular man- 
sion, the cupbearer, coming behind him, whispered in 
his ear, that if he had no objection to a cup of good 
mead in his apartment, there were many domestics in 
that family who would gladly hear the news he had 
brought from the Holy Land, and particularly that 
which concerned the Knight of Ivanhoe. Wamba pres- 
ently appeared to urge the same request, observing 
that a cup after midnight was worth three after 
curfew. Without disputing a maxim urged by such 
grave authority, the Palmer thanked them for their 
courtesy, but observed that he had included in his 
religious vow an obligation never to speak in the 
kitchen on matters which were prohibited in the 
hall. 

“That vow,” said Wamba to the cupbearer, “would 
scarce suit a serving-man.” 

The cupbearer shrugged up his shoulders in dis- 
pleasure. “ I thought to have lodged him in the solere 
chamber,” said he; “but since he is so unsocial to 
Christians, e’en let him take the next stall to Isaac the 
Jew’s. An wold,” said he to the torch-bearer, “ carry the 
Pilgrim to the southern cell. I give you good-night,” 
he added, “ Sir Palmer, with small thanks for short 
courtesy.” 

“Good-night, and Our Lady’s benison!” said the 
Palmer, with composure ; and his guide moved forward. 


58 


IVANHOE 


In a small ante-chamber, into which several doors 
opened, and which was lighted by a small iron lamp, 
they met a second interruption from the waiting-maid 
of Rowena, who, saying in a tone of authority that her 
mistress desired to speak with the Palmer, took the 
torch from the hand of Anwold, and, bidding him await 
her return, made a sign to the Palmer to follow. Ap- 
parently he did not think it proper to decline this in- 
vitation as he had done the former; for, though his 
gesture indicated some surprise at the summons, he 
obeyed it without answer or remonstrance. 

A short passage, and an ascent of seven steps, each 
of which was composed of a solid beam of oak, led him 
to the apartment of the Lady Rowena, the rude magnifi- 
cence of which corresponded to the respect which was 
paid to her by the lord of the mansion. The walls were 
covered with embroidered hangings, on which different- 
coloured silks, interwoven with gold and silver threads, 
had been employed, with all the art of which the age 
was capable, to represent the sports of hunting and 
hawking. The bed was adorned with the same rich 
tapestry, and surrounded with curtains dyed with 
purple. The seats had also their stained coverings, 
and one, which was higher than the rest, was accom- 
modated with a footstool of ivory, curiously carved. 

No fewer than four silver candelabras, holding great 
waxen torches, served to illuminate this apartment. 
Yet let not modern beauty envy the magnificence of a 
Saxon princess. The walls of the apartment were so 
ill finished and so full of crevices, that the rich hang- 
ings shook to the night blast, and, in despite of a sort 
of screen intended to protect them from the wind, the 
flame of the torches streamed sideways into the air, 
like the unfurled pennon of a chieftain. Magnificence 
there was, with some rude attempt at taste; but of 
comfort there was little, and, being unknown, it was 
unmissed. 


IVANHOE 


59 


The Lady Rowena, with three of her attendants 
standing at her back, and arranging her hair ere she 
lay down to rest, was seated in the sort of throne al- 
ready mentioned, and looked as if bom to exact general 
homage. The Pilgrim acknowledged her claim to it 
by a low genuflection. 

“ Rise, Palmer,” said she graciously. “ The defender 
of the absent has a right to favourable reception from 
all who value truth and honour manhood.” She then 
said to her train, ‘‘ Retire, excepting only Elgitha ; I 
would speak with this holy Pilgrim.” 

The maidens, without leaving the apartment, retired 
to its farthest extremity, and sat down on a small bench 
against the wall, where they remained mute as statues, 
though at such a distance that their whispers could not 
have interrupted the conversation of their mistress. 

“ Pilgrim,” said the lady, after a moment’s pause, 
during which she seemed uncertain how to address him, 
‘‘you this night mentioned a name — I mean,” she said 
with a degree of effort, “the name of Ivanhoe — in the 
halls where by nature and kindred it should have 
sounded most acceptably ; and yet such is the perverse 
course of fate, that of many whose hearts must have 
throbbed at the sound, I only dare ask you where, and 
in what condition, you left him of whom you spoke 
We heard that, having remained in Palestine, on ac- 
count of his impaired health, after the departure of the 
English army, he had experienced the persecution of 
the French faction, to whom the Templars are known 
to be attached.” 

“ I know little of the Knight of Ivanhoe,” answered 
the Palmer, with a troubled voice. “ I would I knew 
him better, since you, lady, are interested in his fate. 
He hath, I believe, sunnounted the persecution of his 
enemies in Palestine, and is on the eve of returning to 
England, where jou, lady, must know better than I 
what is his chance of happiness.” 


60 


IVANHOE 


The Lady Rowena sighed deeply, and asked more 
particularly when the Knight of Ivanhoe might be ex- 
pected in his native country, and whether he would not 
be exposed to great dangers by the road. On the first 
point, the Palmer professed ignorance; on the second, 
he said that the voyage might be safely made by the 
way of Venice and Genoa, and from thence through 
France to England. “ Ivanhoe,” he said, “ was so well 
acquainted with the language and manners of the 
French, that there was no fear of his incurring any 
hazard during that part of his travels.” 

“Would to God,” said the Lady Rowena, “he were 
here safely arrived, and able to bear arms in the ap- 
proaching tourney, in which the chivalry of this land 
are expected to display their address and valour. 
Should Athelstane of Coningsburgh obtain the prize, 
Ivanhoe is like to hear evil tidings when he reaches 
England. How looked he, stranger, when you last 
saw him.^ Had disease laid her hand heavy upon his 
strength and comeliness ? ” 

“ He was darker,” said the Palmer, “ and thinner 
than when he came from Cyprus in the train of Coeur- 
de-Lion, and care seemed to sit heavy on his brow ; but 
I approached not his presence, because he is unknown 
to me.” 

“ He will,” said the lady, “ I fear, find little in his 
native land to clear those clouds from his countenance. 
Thanks, good. Pilgrim, for your information concern- 
ing the companion of my childhood. Maidens,” she 
said, “draw near: offer the sleeping-cup to this holy 
man, whom I will no longer detain from repose.” 

One of the maidens presented a silver cup containing 
a rich mixture of wine and spice, which Rowena barely 
put to her lips. It was then offered to the Palmer, who, 
after a low obeisance, tasted a few drops. 

“ Accept this alms, friend,” continued the lady, 
offering a piece of gold, “ in acknowledgment of 


IVANHOE 61 

thy painful travail, and of the shrines thou hast 
visited.” 

The Palmer received the boon with another low rever- 
ence, and followed Edwina out of the apartment. 

In the ante-room he found his attendant Anwold, 
who, taking the torch from the hand of the waiting- 
maid, conducted him with more haste than ceremony to 
an exterior and ignoble part of the building, where a 
number of small apartments, or rather cells, served for 
sleeping-places to the lower order of domestics, and to 
strangers of mean degree. 

‘‘ In which of these sleeps the Jew? ” said the Pilgrim. 

“ The unbelieving dog,” answered Anwold, ‘‘ kennels 
in the cell next your holiness. St. Dunstan, how it 
must be scraped and cleansed ere it be again fit for a 
Christian ! ” 

“And where sleeps Gurth, the swineherd?” said the 
stranger. 

“ Gurth,” replied the bondsman, “ sleeps in the cell 
on your right, as the Jew on that to your left ; you 
seiwe to keep the child of circumcision separate from 
the abomination of his tribe. You might have occupied 
a more honourable place had you accepted of Oswald’s 
invitation.” 

“ It is as well as it is,” said the Palmer ; “ the com- 
pany, even of a Jew, can hardly spread contamination 
through an oaken partition.” 

So saying, he entered the cabin allotted to him, and 
taking the torch from the domestic’s hand, thanked him 
and wished him good-night. Having shut the door of 
his cell, he placed the torch in a candlestick made of 
wood, and looked around his sleeping apartment, the 
furniture of which was of the most simple kind. It con- 
sisted of a rude wooden stool, and still ruder hutch or 
bed-frame, stuffed with clean straw, and accommodated 
with two or three sheepskins by way of bed-clothes. 

The Palmer, having extinguished his torch, threw 


62 


IVANHOE 


himself, without taking off any part of his clothes, on 
this rude couch, and slept, or at least retained his re- 
cumbent posture, till the earliest sunbeams found their 
way through the little grated window, which served at 
once to admit both air and light to his uncomfortable 
cell. He then started up, and after repeating his 
matins and adjusting his dress he left it, and entered 
that of Isaac the Jew, lifting the latch as gently as he 
could. 

The inmate was lying in troubled slumber upon a 
couch similar to that on which the Palmer himself had 
passed the night. Such parts of his dress as the Jew 
had laid aside on the preceding evening were disposed 
carefully around his person, as if to prevent the hazard 
of their being carried off during his slumbers. There 
was a trouble on his brow amounting almost to agony. 
His hands and arms moved convulsively, as if strug- 
gling with the nightmare ; and besides several ej acula- 
tions in Hebrew, the following were distinctly heard in 
the Norman-English, or mixed language of the country : 
“For the sake of the God of Abraham, spare an un- 
happy old man ! I am poor, I am penniless ; should 
your irons wrench my limbs asunder, I could not gratify 
you ! ” 

The Palmer awaited not the end of the Jew’s vision, 
but stirred him with his pilgrim’s staff. The touch 
probably associated, as is usual, with some of the ap- 
prehensions excited by his dream; for the old man 
started up, his gray hair standing almost erect upon 
his head, and huddling some part of his garments about 
him, while he held the detached pieces with the tenacious 
grasp of a falcon, he fixed upon the Palmer his keen 
black eyes, expressive of wild surprise and of bodily 
apprehension. 

“Fear nothing from me, Isaac,” said the Palmer, 
“ I come as your friend.” 

“The God of Israel requite you,” said the Jew, 


IVANHOE 


63 


greatly relieved; “I dreamed — but Father Abraham 
be praised, it was but a dream ! ” Then, collecting him- 
self, he added in his usual tone, “And what may it be 
your pleasure to want at so early an hour with the 
poor Jew?” 

“ It is to tell you,” said the Palmer, “ that if you 
leave not this mansion instantly, and travel not with 
some haste, your journey may prove a dangerous one.” 

“Holy father!” said the Jew, “whom could it in- 
terest to endanger so poor a wretch as I am?” 

“ The purpose you can best guess,” said the Pil- 
grim ; “ but rely on this, that Avhen the Templar crossed 
the hall yesternight, he spoke to his Mussulman slaves 
in the Saracen language, which I well understand, and 
charged them this morning to watch the journey of the 
Jew, tO' seize upon him when at a convenient distance 
from the mansion, and to conduct him to the castle of 
Philip de Malvoisin or to that of Reginald Front-de- 
Boeuf.” 

It is impossible to describe the extremity of terror 
which seized upon the Jew at this information, and 
seemed at once to overpower his whole faculties. His 
arms fell down to his sides, and his head drooped on his 
breast, his knees bent under his weight, every nerve 
and muscle of his frame seemed to collapse and lose its 
energy, and he sunk at the foot of the Palmer, not in 
the fashion of one who intentionally stoops, kneels, or 
prostrates himself to excite compassion, but like a man 
borne down on all sides by the pressure of some invisible 
force, which crushes him to the earth without the power 
of resistance. 

“ Holy God of Abraham 1 ” was his first exclamation, 
folding and elevating his wrinkled hands, but without 
raising his gray head from the pavement; “O holy 
Moses I O blessed Aaron 1 the dream is not dreamed 
for nought, and the vision cometh not in vain 1 I feel 
their irons already tear my sinews! I feel the rack 


64 


IVANHOE 


pass over my body like the saws, and harrows, and 
axes of iron over the men of Rabbah, and of the cities 
of the children of Ammon ! ” 

“ Stand up, Isaac, and hearken to me,” said the 
Palmer, who viewed the extremity of his distress with 
a compassion in which contempt was largely mingled; 
“ you have cause for your terror, considering how your 
brethren have been used, in order to extort from them 
their hoards, both by princes and nobles ; but stand up, 
I say, and I will point out to you the means of escape. 
Leave this mansion instantly, while its inmates sleep 
sound after the last night’s revel, I will guide you by 
the secret paths of the forest, known as well to me as 
to any forester that ranges it, and I will not leave you 
till you are under safe conduct of some chief or baron 
going to the tournament, whose good-will you have 
probably the means of securing.” 

As the ears of Isaac received the hopes of escape 
which this speech intimated, he began gradually, and 
inch by inch, as it were, to raise himself up from the 
ground, until he fairly rested upon his knees, throwing 
back his long gray hair and beard, and fixing his keen 
black eyes upon the Palmer’s face, with a look expres- 
sive at once of hope and fear, not unmingled with sus- 
picion. But when he heard the concluding part of the 
sentence, his original terror appeared to revive in full 
force, and he dropt once more on his face, exclaiming, 
“ I possess the means of securing good-will ! Alas ! 
there is but one road to the favour of a Christian, and 
how can the poor Jew find it, whom extortions have 
already reduced to the misery of Lazarus ” Then, as 
if suspicion had overpowered his other feelings, he sud- 
denly exclaimed, ‘‘For the love of God, young man, 
betray me not; for the sake of the Great Father who 
made us all, Jew as well as Gentile, Israelite and Ish- 
maelite, do me no treason ! I have not means to secure 
the good-will of a Christian beggar, were he rating it at 


IVANHOE 


65 


a single penny.” As he spoke these last words, he raised 
himself and grasped the Palmer’s mantle with a look of 
the most earnest entreaty. The Pilgrim extricated 
himself, as if there were contamination in the touch. 

“Wert thou loaded with all the wealth of thy tribe,” 
he said, “what interest have I to injure thee.? In this 
dress I am vowed to poverty, nor do I change it for 
aught save a horse and a coat of mail. Yet think not 
that I care for thy company, or propose myself ad- 
vantage by it; remain here if thou wilt, Cedric the 
Saxon may protect thee.” 

“Alas!” said the Jew, “he will not let me travel in 
his train. Saxon or Norman will be equally ashamed 
of the poor Israelite; and to travel by myself through 
the domains of Philip de Malvoisin and Reginald Front- 
de-Boeuf — Good youth, I will go with you ! Let us 
haste — let us gird up our loins — let us flee! Here 
is thy staff, why wilt thou tarry .? ” 

“ I tarry not,” said the Pilgrim, giving way to the 
urgency of his companion ; “ but I must secure the 
means of leaving this place ; follow me.” 

He led the way to the adjoining cell, which, as the 
reader is apprised, was occupied by Gurth, the swine- 
herd. “ Arise, Gurth,” said the Pilgrim — “ arise 
quickly. Undo the postern gate, and let out the Jew 
and me.” 

Gurth, whose occupation, though now held so mean, 
gave him as much consequence in Saxon England as 
that of Eumasus in Ithaca, was offended at the familiar 
and commanding tone assumed by the Palmer. “ The 
Jew leaving Rotherwood,” said he, raising himself on 
his elbow and looking superciliously at him, without 
quitting his pallet, “ and travelling in company with 
the Palmer to boot — ” 

“I should as soon have dreamt,” said Wamba, who 
entered the apartment at the instant, “of his stealing 
a^vay with a ganmion of bacon.” 


66 


IVANHOE 


“Nevertheless,” said Gurth, again laying down his 
head on the wooden log which served him for a pillow, 
“both Jew and Gentile must be content to abide the 
opening of the great gate; we suffer no visitors to 
depart by stealth at these unseasonable hours.” 

“ Nevertheless,” said the Pilgrim, in a commanding 
tone, “you will not, I think, refuse me that favour.” 

So saying, he stooped over the bed of the recumbent 
swineherd, and whispered something in his ear in Saxon. 
Gurth started up as if electrified. The Pilgrim, rais- 
ing his finger in an attitude as if to express caution, 
added, “ Gurth, beware ; thou art wont to be pru- 
dent. I say, undo the postern ; thou shalt know more 
anon.” 

With hasty alacrity Gurth obeyed him, while Wamba 
and the Jew followed, both wondering at the sudden 
change in the swineherd’s demeanour. 

“ My mule — my mule ! ” said the J ew, as soon as 
they stood without the postern. 

“ Fetch him his mule,” said the Pilgrim ; “ and, hear- 
est thou, let me have another, that I may bear him com- 
pany till he is beyond these parts. I will return it 
safely to some of Cedric’s train at Ashby. And do 
thou — ” he whispered the rest in Gurth’s ear. 

“Willingly — most willingly shall it be done,” said 
Gurth, and instantly departed to execute the com- 
mission. 

“ I wish I knew,” said Wamba, when his comrade’s 
back was turned, “ what you Palmers learn in the Holy 
Land.” 

“ To say our orisons, fool,” answered the Pilgrim, 
“to repent our sins, and to mortify ourselves with fast- 
ing, vigils, and long prayers.” 

“ Something more potent than that,” answered the 
Jester; “for when would repentance or prayer make 
Gurth do a courtesy, or fasting or vigil persuade him 
to lend you a rnule.f^ I trow you might as well h»ve 


IVANHOE 


67 


told his favourite black boar of thy vigils and penance, 
and wouldst have gotten as civil an answer.” 

“ Go to,” said the Pilgrim, “ thou art but a Saxon 
fool.” 

“Thou sayest well,” said the Jester; “had I been 
bom a Norman, as I think thou art, I would have 
had luck on my side, and been next door to a wise 
man.” 

At this moment Gurth appeared on the opposite side 
of the moat with the mules. The travellers crossed the 
ditch upon a drawbridge of only two planks’ breadth, 
the narrowness of which was matched with the strait- 
ness of the postern, and with a little wicket in the ex- 
terior palisade, which gave access to the forest. No 
sooner had they reached the mules, than the Jew, with 
hasty and trembling hands, secured behind the saddle 
a small bag of blue buckram, which he took from under 
his cloak, containing, as he muttered, “ a change of 
raiment — only a change of raiment.” Then getting 
upon the animal with more alacrity and haste than 
could have been anticipated from his years, he lost no 
time in so disposing of the skirts of his gaberdine as to 
conceal completely from observation the burden which 
he had thus deposited en croupe. 

The Pilgrim mounted with more deliberation, reach- 
ing, as he departed, his hand to Gurth, who kissed it 
with the utmost possible veneration. The swineherd 
stood gazing after the travellers until they were lost 
under the boughs of the forest path, when he was dis- 
turbed from his reverie by the voice of Wamba. 

“Knowest thou,” said the Jester, “my good friend 
Gurth, that thou art strangely courteous and most un- 
wontedly pious on this summer morning? I would I 
were a black prior or a barefoot palmer, to avail myself 
of thy unwonted zeal and courtesy; certes, I would 
make more out of it than a kiss of the hand.” 

,“Thou art no fool thus far, Wamba,” answered 


G8 


IVANHOE 


Gurth, ‘‘though thou arguest from appearances, and 
the wisest of us can do no more. But it is time to 
look after my charge.” 

So saying, he turned back to the mansion, attended 
by the Jester. 

Meanwhile the travellers continued to press on their 
journey with a despatch which argued the extremity 
of the Jew’s fears, since persons at his age are seldom 
fond of rapid motion. The Palmer, to whom every path 
and outlet in the wood appeared to be familiar, led the 
way through the most devious paths, and more than 
once excited anew the suspicion of the Israelite that he 
intended to betray him into some ambuscade of his 
enemies. 

His doubts might have been indeed pardoned; for, 
except perhaps the flying fish, there was no race exist- 
ing on the earth, in the air, or the waters, who were 
the object of such an unintermitting, general, and re- 
lentless persecution as the Jews of this period. Upon 
the slightest and most unreasonable pretences, as well 
as upon accusations the most absurd and groundless, 
their persons and property were exposed to every turn 
of popular fury ; for Norman, Saxon, Dane, and 
Briton, however adverse these races were to each other, 
contended which should look with greatest detestation 
upon a people whom it was accounted a point of reli- 
gion to hate, to revile, to despise, to plunder, and to 
persecute. The kings of the Norman race, and the in- 
dependent nobles, who followed their example in all acts 
of tyranny, maintained against this devoted people a 
persecution of a more regular, calculated,* and self- 
interested kind. It is a well-known story of King John, 
that he confined a wealthy Jew in one of the royal 
castles, and daily caused one of his teeth to be torn out, 
until, when the jaw of the unhappy Israelite was half 
disfurnished, he consented to pay a large sum, which 
it was the tyrant’s object to extort from him. The little 


IVANHOE 


G9 


ready money which was in the country was chiefly in 
possession of this persecuted people, and the nobility 
hesitated not to follow the example of their sovereign 
in wringing it from them by every species of oppres- 
sion, and even personal torture. Yet the passive cour- 
age inspired by the love of gain induced the Jews to 
dare the various evils to which they were subjected, in 
consideration of the immense profits which they were 
enabled to realize in a country naturally so wealthy as 
England. In spite of every kind of discouragement, 
and even of the special court of taxations already men- 
tioned, called the Jews’ Exchequer, erected for the very 
purpose of despoiling and distressing them, the Jews 
increased, multiplied, and accumulated huge sums, which 
they transferred from one hand to another by means of 
bills of exchange — an invention for which commerce 
is said to be indebted to them, and which enabled them 
to transfer their wealth from land to land, that, when 
threatened with oppression in one country, their treas- 
ure might be secured in another. 

The obstinacy and avarice of the Jews being thus in 
a measure placed in opposition to the fanaticism and 
tyranny of those under whom they lived, seemed to 
increase in proportion to the persecution with which 
they were visited ; and the immense wealth they usually 
acquired in commerce, while it frequently placed them 
in danger, was at other times used to extend their in- 
fluence, and to secure to them a certain degree of pro-- 
tection.' On these terms they lived ; and their character, 
influenced . accordingly, was watchful, suspicious, and 
timid — yet obstinate, uncomplying, and skilful in evad- 
ing the dangers to which they were exposed. 

When the travellers had pushed on at a rapid rate 
through many devious paths, the Palmer at length 
broke silence. 

“That large decayed oak,” he said, “marks the 
boundaries over which Front-de-Boeuf claims authority ; 


70 


IVANHOE 


wc are long since far from those of Malvoisin. There 
is now no fear of pursuit.” 

“ May the wheels of tlieir chariots be taken off,” said 
the Jew, “ like those of the host of Pharaoh, that they 
may drive heavily ! But leave me not, good Pilgrim. 
Think but of that fierce and savage Templar, with his 
Saracen slaves ; they will regard neither territory, nor 
manor, nor lordship.” 

“ Our road,” said the Palmer, “ should here separate ; 
for it beseems not men of my character and thine to 
travel together longer than needs must be. Besides, 
what succour couldst thou have from me, a peaceful 
pilgrim, against two armed heathens.?^” 

“ O, good youth,” answered the Jew, “ thou canst 
defend me, and I know thou wouldst. Poor as I am, 
I will requite it; not with money, for money, so help 
me my F ather Abraham ! I have none ; but — ” 

“ Money and recompense,” said the Palmer, inter- 
rupting him, “ I have already said I require not of 
thee. Guide thee I can, and, it may be, even in some 
sort defend thee; since to protect a Jew against a 
Saracen can scarce be accounted unworthy of a Chris- 
tian. Therefore, Jew, I will see thee safe under some 
fitting escort. We are now not far from the town of 
Sheffield, where thou mayest easily find many of thy 
tribe with whom to take refuge.” 

“The blessing of Jacob be upon thee, good youth!” 
said the Jew ; “ in Sheffield I can harbour with my kins- 
man Zareth, and find some means of travelling forth 
with safety.” 

“ Be it so,” said the Palmer ; “ at Sheffield then we 
part, and h'alf an hour’s riding will bring us in sight 
of that town.” 

The half hour was spent in perfect silence on both 
parts ; the Pilgrim perhaps disdaining to address the 
Jew, except in case of absolute necessity, and the Jew 
not presuming to force a conversation with a person 


IVANHOE 


71 


whose journey to the Holy Sepulchre gave a sort of 
sanctity to his character. They paused on the top of 
a gently rising bank, and the Pilgrim, pointing to the 
town of Sheffield, which lay beneath them, repeated the 
words, “ Here, then, we part.” 

“Not till you have had the poor Jew’s thanks,” said 
Isaac ; “ for I presume not to ask you to go with me 
to my kinsman Zareth’s, who might aid me with some 
means of repaying your good offices.” 

“ I have already said,” answered the Pilgrim, “ that 
I desire no recompense. If, among the huge list of thy 
debtors, thou wilt, for my sake, spare the gyves and 
the dungeon to some unhappy Christian who stands in 
thy danger, I shall hold this morning’s service to thee 
well bestowed.” 

“Stay — stay,” said the Jew, laying hold of his 
garment ; “ something would I do more than this — 
something for thyself. God knows the Jew is poor — 
yes, Isaac is the beggar of liis tribe — but forgive me 
should I guess what thou most lackest at this moment.” 

“ If thou wert to guess truly,” said the Palmer, “ it 
is what thou canst not supply, wert thou as wealthy as 
thou sayest thou art poor.” 

“As I say!” echoed the Jew. “O! believe it, I say 
but the truth; I am a plundered, indebted, distressed 
man. Hard hands have wrung from me my goods, my 
money, my ships, and all that I possessed. Yet I can 
tell thee what thou lackest, and, it may be, supply it 
too. Thy wish even now is for a horse and armour.” 

The Palmer started, and turned suddenly towards 
the Jew. “What fiend prompted that guess said 
he, hastily. 

“No matter,” said the Jew, smiling, “so that it be 
a true one ; and, as I can guess thy want, so I can 
supply it.” 

“ But consider,” said the Palmer, “ my character, 
my dress, my vow.” 


72 


IVANHOE 


“ I know you Christians,” replied the Jew, “ and that 
the noblest of you will take the staff and sandal in 
superstitious penance, and walk afoot to visit the graves 
of dead men.” 

“Blaspheme not, Jew!” said the Pilgrim, sternly. 

“ Forgive me,” said the Jew ; “ I spoke rashly. But 
there dropt words from you last night and this morn- 
ing that, like sparks from flint, showed the metal within ; 
and in the bosom of that Palmer’s gown is hidden a 
knight’s chain and spurs of gold. They glanced as 
you stooped over my bed in the morning.” 

The Pilgrim could not forbear smiling. “Were thy 
garments searched by as curious an eye, Isaac,” said 
he, “what discoveries might not be made.?” 

“No more of that,” said the Jew, changing colour; 
and drawing forth his writing materials in haste, as 
if to stop the conversation, he began to write upon a 
piece of paper which he supported on the top of his 
yellow cap, without dismounting from his mule. When 
he had finished, he delivered the scroll, which was in the 
Hebrew character, to the Pilgrim, saying, “ In the town 
of Leicester all men know the rich Jew, Kirjath Jairam 
of Lombardy; give him this scroll. He hath on sale 
six Milan harnesses, the worst would suit a crowned 
head ; ten goodly steeds, the worst might mount a king, 
were he to do battle for his throne. Of these he will 
give thee thy choice, with everything else that can 
furnish thee forth for the tournament ; when it is over, 
thou wilt return them safely — unless thou shouldst 
have wherewith to pay their value to the owner.” 

“ But, Isaac,” said the Pilgrim, smiling, “ dost thou 
know that in these sports the arms and steed of the 
knight who is unhorsed are forfeit to his victor.? Now 
I may be unfortunate, and so lose what I cannot replace 
or repay.” 

The Jew looked somewhat astounded at this possi- 
bility; but collecting his courage, he replied hastily, 


IVANHOE 


73 


“No — no — no. It is impossible — I will not think 
so. The blessing of Our F ather will be upon thee. Thy 
lance will be powerful as the rod of Moses.” 

So saying, he was turning his mule’s head away, 
when the Palmer, in his turn, took hold of his gaberdine. 
“Nay, but, Isaac, thou knowest not all the risk. The 
steed may be slain, the armour injured ; for I will spare 
neither horse nor man. Besides, those of thy tribe give 
nothing for nothing; something there must be paid 
for their use.” 

The Jew twisted himself in the saddle, like a man in a 
fit of the colic; but his better feelings predominated 
over those which were most familiar to him. “ I care 
not,” he said — “I care not; let me go. If there is 
damage, it will cost you nothing; if there is usage 
money, Kirjath Jairam will forgive it for the sake of 
his kinsman Isaac. Fare thee well! Yet, hark thee, 
good youth,” said he, turning about, “thrust thyself 
not too forward into this vain hurly-burly: I speak 
not for endangering the steed and coat of armour, but 
for the sake of thine own life and limbs.” 

“ Gramercy for thy caution,” said the Palmer, again 
smiling ; “ I will use thy courtesy frankly, and it will 
go hard with me but I will requite it.” 

They parted, and took different roads for the town 
of Sheffield. 


74 


IVANHOE 


CHAPTER VII 

Knights, with a long retinue of their squires. 

In gaudy liveries march and quaint attires ; 

One laced the helm, another held the lance, 

A third the shining buckler did advance. 

The courser paw’d the ground with restless feet. 

And snorting foam’d and champ’d the golden bit. 

The smiths and armourers on palfreys ride. 

Files in their hands and hammers at their side ; 

And nails for loosen’d spears, and thongs for shields provide. 

The yeomen guard the streets in seemly bands ; 

And clowns come crowding on, with cudgels in their hands. 

Palamon and Arcite. 

T he condition of the English nation was at this 
time sufficiently miserable. King Richard was 
absent a prisonerf and in the power of the per- 
fidious and cruel Duke of Austria. Even the very place 
of his captivity was uncertain^ and his fate but very 
imperfectly known to' the generality of his subjects, 
who were, in the meantime, a prey to every species of 
subaltern oppression. 

V >. Prince John, in league with Philip of France, Coeur- 
de-Lion’s mortal enemy, was using every species of 
influence with the Duke of Austria to prolong the 
captivity of his brother Richard, to whom he stood in- 
debted for so many favours. In the meantime, he was 
strengthening his o^vn faction in the kingdom, of which 
he proposed to dispute the succession, in case of the 
King’s death, with the legitimate heir, Arthur Duke 
of Brittany, son of Geoffrey Plantagenet, the elder 
brother of John. This usurpation, it is well known, 
he afterwards effected. His own character being light, 
profligate, and perfidious, John easily attached to his 
person and faction not only all who had reason to 
dread the resentment of Richard for criminal proceed- 
ings during his absence, but also the numerous class of 
“ lawless resolutes ” whom the crusades had turned back 


IVANHOE 


75 


on their country, accomplished in the vices of the 
East, impoverished in substance, and hardened in char- 
acter, and who placed their hopes of harvest in civil 
commotion. 

To these causes of public distress and apprehension 
must be added the multitude of outlaws who, driven to 
despair by the oppression of the feudal nobility and 
the severe exercise of the forest laws, banded together 
in large gangs, and, keeping possession of the forests 
and the wastes, set at defiance the justice and magis- 
tracy of the country. The nobles themselves, each for- 
tified within his own castle, and playing the petty 
sovereign over his own dominions, were the leaders of 
bands scarce less lawless and oppressive than those of 
the avowed depredators. To maintain these retainers, 
and to support the extravagance and magnificence 
which their pride induced them to affect, the nobility 
borrowed sums of money from tj^e Jews at the most 
usurious interest, which gnawed into their estates like 
consuming cankers, scarce to be cured unless when 
circumstances gave them an opportunity of getting 
free by exercising upon their creditors some act of 
unprincipled violence. 

Under the various burdens imposed by this unhappy 
state of affairs, the people of England suffered deeply 
for the present, and had yet more dreadful cause to fear 
for the future. To augment their misery, a conta- 
gious disorder of a dangerous nature spread through 
the land; and, rendered more virulent by the unclean- 
ness, the indifferent food, and the wretched lodging of 
the lower classes, swept off many, whose fate the sur- 
vivors were tempted to envy, as exempting them from 
the evils which were to come. 

Yet, amid these accumulated distresses, the poor as 
well as the rich, the vulgar as well as the noble, in the 
event of a tournament, which was the grand spectacle 
of that age, felt as much interested as the half-starved 


76 


IVANHOE 


citizen of Madrid, who has not a real left to buy pro- 
visions for his family, feels in the issue of a bull-fight. 
Neither duty nor infirmity could keep youth or age 
from such exhibitions. The passage of arms, as it was 
called, which was to take place at Ashby, in the county 
of Leicester, as champions of the first renown were to 
take the field in the presence of Prince John himself, 
who was expected to grace the lists, had attracted 
universal attention, and an immense confluence of per- 
sons of all ranks hastened upon the appointed morning 
to the place of combat. 

The scene was singularly romantic. On the verge of 
a wood, which approached to within a mile of the town 
of Ashby, was an extensive meadow of the finest and 
most beautiful green turf, surrounded on one side by 
the forest, and fringed on the other by straggling oak- 
trees, some of which had grown to an immense size. 
The ground, as if fashioned on purpose for the martial 
display which was intended, sloped gradually down on 
all sides to a level bottom, which was enclosed for the 
lists with strong palisades, forming a space of a quar- 
ter of a mile in length, and about half as broad. The 
form of the enclosure was an oblong square, save that 
the comers were considerably rounded off, in order to 
afford more convenience to the spectators. The open- 
ings for the entry of the combatants were at the north- 
ern and southern extremities of the lists, accessible by 
strong wooden gates, each wide enough to admit two 
horsemen riding abreast. At each of these portals 
were stationed two heralds, attended by six trumpets, 
as many pursuivants, and a strong body of men-at- 
arms, for maintaining order, and ascertaining the 
quality of the knights who proposed to engage in this 
martial game. 

On a platform beyond the southern entrance, formed 
by a natural elevation of the ground, were pitched five 
magnificent pavilions, adorned with pennons of russet 


IVANHOE 


77 


and black, the chosen colours of the five knights chal- 
lengers. The cords of the tents were of the same 
colour. Before each pavilion was suspended the shield 
of the knight by whom it was occupied, and beside it 
stood his squire, quaintly disguised as a salvage or 
silvan man, or in some other fantastic dress, accord- 
ing to the taste of his master and the character he 
was pleased to assume during the game. The central 
pavilion, as the place of honour, had been assigned to 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whose renown in all games of 
chivalry, no less than his connection with the knights 
who had undertaken this passage of arms, had occa- 
sioned him to be eagerly received into the company of 
the challengers, and even adopted as their chief and 
leader, though he had so recently joined them. On 
one side of his tent were pitched those of Reginald 
Front-de-Boeuf and Richard de Malvoisin, and on the 
other was the pavilion of Hugh de Grantmesnil, a 
noble baron in the vicinity, whose ancestor had been 
Lord High Steward of England in the time of the Con- 
queror and his son William Rufus. Ralph de Vipont, 
a knight of St. John of Jerusalem, who had some 
ancient possessions at a place called Heather, near 
Ashby-de-la-Zouche, occupied the fifth pavilion. From 
the entrance into the lists a gently sloping passage, ten 
yards in breadth, led up to the platform on which the 
tents were pitched. It was strongly secured by a pal- 
isade on each side, as was the esplanade in front of the 
pavilions, and the whole was guarded by men-at-arms. 

The northern access to the lists terminated in a simi- 
lar entrance of thirty feet in breadth, at the extremity 
of which was a large enclosed space for such knights as 
might be disposed to enter the hsts with the challengers, 
behind which were placed tents containing refreshments 
of every kind for their accommodation, with armourers, 
farriers, and other attendants, in readiness to give their 
services wherever they might be necessary. 


78 


IVANHOE 


The exterior of the lists was in part occupied by 
temporary galleries, spread with tapestry and carpets, 
and accommodated with cushions for the convenience of 
those ladies and nobles who were expected to attend the 
tournament. A narrow space betwixt these galleries 
and the lists gave accommodation for yeomanry and 
spectators of a better degree than the mere vulgar, and 
might be compared to the pit of a theatre. The pro- 
miscuous multitude arranged themselves upon large 
banks of turf prepared for the purpose, which, aided 
by the natural elevation of the ground, enabled them to 
overlook the galleries, and obtain a fair view into the 
lists. Besides the accommodation which these stations 
afforded, many hundreds had perched themselves on 
the branches of the trees which surrounded the meadow ; 
and even the steeple of a country church, at some dis- 
tance, was crowded with spectators. 

It only remains to notice respecting the general 
arrangement, that one gallery in the very centre of the 
eastern side of the lists, and consequently exactly 
opposite to the spot where the shock of the combat 
was to take place, was raised higher than the others, 
more richly decorated, and graced by a sort of throne 
and canopy, on which the royal arms were emblazoned. 
Squires, pages, and yeomen in rich liveries waited 
around this place of honour, which was designed for 
Prince John and his attendants. Opposite to this 
royal gallery was another, elevated to the same height, 
on the western side of the lists ; and more gaily, if 
less sumptuously, decorated than that destined for the 
Prince himself. A train of pages and of young maidens, 
the most beautiful who could be selected, gaily dressed 
in fancy habits of green and pink, surrounded a throne 
decorated in the same colours. Among pennons and 
flags bearing wounded hearts, burning hearts, bleeding 
hearts, bows and quivers, and all the common-place em- 
blems of the triumphs of Cupid, a blazoned inscription 


IVANHOE 


79 


inforaied the spectators that this seat of honour was 
designed for La Royne de la Beaulte et des Amours. 
But who was to represent the Queen of Beauty and of 
Love on the present occasion no one was prepared to 
guess. 

Meanwhile, spectators of every description thronged 
forward to occupy their respective stations, and not 
without many quarrels concerning those which they 
were entitled to hold. Some of these were settled by the 
men-at-arms with brief ceremony; the shafts of their 
battle-axes and pummels of their swords being readily 
employed as arguments to convince the more refrac- 
tory. Others, which involved the rival claims of more 
elevated persons, were determined by the heralds, or by 
the two marshals of the field, William de Wyvil and 
Stephen de Martival, who, armed at all points, rode 
up and down the lists to enforce and preserve good 
order among the spectators. 

Gradually the galleries became filled with knights 
and nobles, in their robes of peace, whose long and rich- 
tinted mantles were contrasted with the gayer and more 
splendid habits of the ladies, who, in a greater propor- 
tion than even the men themselves, thronged to witness 
a sport which one would have thought too bloody and 
dangerous to afford their sex much pleasure. The lower 
and interior space was soon filled by substantial yeo- 
men and burghers, and such of the lesser gentry as, 
from modesty, poverty, or dubious title, durst not 
assume any higher place. It was of course amongst 
these that the most frequent disputes for precedence 
occurred. 

“Dog of an unbeliever,” said an old man, whose 
threadbare tunic bore witness to his poverty, as his 
sword, and dagger, and golden chain intimated his 
pretensions to rank — “whelp of a she-wolf! darest 
thou press upon a Christian, and a Nonnan gentleman 
of the blood of IVIontdidier.? ” 


80 


IVANHOE 


This rough expostulation was addressed to no other 
than our acquaintance Isaac, who, richly and even 
magnificently dressed in a gaberdine ornamented with 
lace and lined with fur, was endeavouring to make 
place in the foremost row beneath the gallery for his 
daughter, the beautiful Rebecca, who had joined him 
at Ashby, and who was now hanging on her father’s 
arm, not a little terrified by the popular displeasure 
which seemed generally excited by her father’s presump- 
tion. But Isaac, though we have seen him sufficiently 
timid on other occasions, knew well that at present he 
had nothing to fear.i It was not in places of general 
resort, or where their equals were assembled, that any 
avaricious or malevolent noble durst offer him injury. 
At such meetings the Jews were under the protection 
of the general law; and if that proved a weak assur- 
ance, it usually happened that there were among the 
persons assembled some barons who, for their own in- 
terested motives, were ready to act as their protectors. 
On the present occasion, Isaac felt more than usually 
confident, being aware that Prince John was even then 
in the very act of negotiating a large loan from the 
Jews of York, to be secured upon certain jewels and 
lands. Isaac’s own share in this transaction was con- 
siderable, and he well knew that the Prince’s eager 
desire to bring it to a conclusion would ensure him his 
protection in the dilemma in which he stood. 

Emboldened by these considerations, the Jew pur- 
sued his point, and jostled the Norman Christian with- 
out respect either to his descent, quality, or religion. 
The complaints of the old man, however, excited the 
indignation of the bystanders. One of these, a stout 
well-set yeoman, arrayed in Lincoln green, having 
twelve arrows stuck in his belt, with a baldric and badge 
of silver, and a bow of six feet length in his hand, turned 
short round, and while his countenance, which his con- 
stant exposure . to weather had rendered brown as a 


IVANHOE 


81 


hazel nut, grew darker with anger, he advised the Jew 
to remember that all the wealth he had acquired by suck- 
ing the blood of his miserable victims had but swelled him 
like a bloated spider, which might be overlooked while 
it kept in a corner, but would be crushed if it ventured 
into the light. This intimation, delivered in Norman- 
English with a firm voice and a stem aspect, made the 
Jew shrink back; and he would have probably with- 
drawn himself altogetl^ from a vicinity so dangerous, 
had not the attenji^fl of every one been called to the 
sudden entrance of Prince John, who at that moment 
entered the lists, attended by a numerous and gay 
train, consisting partly of laymen, partly of churchmen, 
as light in their dress, and as gay in their demeanour, 
as their companions. Among the latter was the Prior 
of Jorvaulx, in the most gallant trim which a dignitary 
of the church could venture to exhibit. Fur and gold 
were not spared in his garments ; and the points of his 
boots, out-heroding the preposterous fashion of the 
time, turned up so very far as to be attached not to his 
knees merely, but to his very girdle, and effectually 
prevented him from putting his foot into the stirmp. 
This, however, was a slight inconvenience to the gallant 
Abbot, who, perhaps even rejoicing in the opportunity 
to display his accomplished horsemanship before so many 
spectators, especially of the fair sex, dispensed with 
these supports to a timid rider. The rest of Prince 
John’s retinue consisted of the favourite leaders of his 
mercenary troops, some marauding barons and profli- 
gate attendants upon the court, with several Knights 
Templars and Knights of St. John. 

It may be here remarked, that the knights of these 
two orders were accounted hostile to King Richard, hav- 
ing adopted the side of Philip of France in the long train 
of disputes which took place in Palestine betwixt that 
monarch and the lion-hearted King of England. It was 
the well-known consequence of this discord that Richard’s 


82 


IVANHOE 


repeated victories had been rendered fruitless, his ro- 
mantic attempts to besiege Jerusalem disappointed, and 
the fruit of all the glory which he had acquired had 
dwindled into an uncertain truce with the Sultan S ala- 
din. With the same policy which had dictated the con- 
duct of their brethren in the Holy Land, the Templars 
and Hospitallers in England and Normandy attached 
themselves to the faction of Prince John, having little 
reason to desire the return of Richard to England, or 
the succession of Arthur, his legitimate heir. For the 
opposite reason. Prince John hated and contemned the 
few Saxon families of consequence which subsisted in 
England, and omitted no opportunity of mortifying 
and affronting them; being conscious that his person 
and pretensions were disliked by them, as well as by 
the greater part of the English commons, who feared 
farther innovation upon their rights and liberties 
from a sovereign of John’s licentious and tyrannical 
disposition. 

Attended by this gallant equipage, himself well 
mounted, and splendidly dressed in crimson and in gold, 
bearing upon his hand a falcon, and having his head 
covered by a rich fur bonnet, adorned with a circle of 
precious stones, from which his long curled hair escaped 
and overspread his shoulders. Prince John, upon a 
gray and high-mettled palfrey, caracoled within the 
lists at the head of his jovial party, laughing loud with 
his train, and eyeing with all the boldness of royal 
criticism the beauties who adorned the lofty galleries. 

Those who remarked in the physiognomy of the 
Prince a dissolute audacity, mingled with extreme 
haughtiness and indifference to the feelings of others, 
could not yet deny to his countenance that sort of 
comeliness which belongs to an open set of features, well 
formed by nature, modelled by art to the usual rules 
of courtesy, yet so far frank and honest that they 
seemed as if they disclaimed to conceal the natural 


IVANHOE 


83 


workings of the soul. Such an expression is often mis- 
taken for manly frankness, when in truth it arises from 
the reckless indijfference of a libertine disposition, con- 
scious of superiority of birth, of wealth, or of some 
other adventitious advantage, totally unconnected with 
personal merit. To those who did not think so deeply, 
and they were the greater number by a hundred to one, 
the splendour of Prince John’s rheno {i,e, fur tippet), 
the richness of his cloak, lined with the most costly 
sables, his maroquin boots and golden spurs, together 
with the grace with which he managed his palfrey, were 
sufficient to merit clamorous applause. 

In his joyous caracole round the lists, the attention 
of the Prince was called by the commotion, not yet 
subsided, which had attended the ambitious movement 
of Isaac towards the higher places of the assembly. 
The quick eye of Prince John instantly recognized the 
Jew, but was much more agreeably attracted by the 
beautiful daughter of Zion, who, terrified by the tumult, 
clung close to the arm of her aged father. 

The figure of Rebecca might indeed have compared 
with the proudest beauties of England, even though it 
had been judged by as shrewd a connoisseur as Prince 
John. Her form was exquisitely symmetrical, and was 
shown to advantage by a sort of Eastern dress, which 
she wore according to the fashion of the females of her 
nation. Her turban of yellow silk suited well with the 
darkness of her complexion. The brilliancy of her eyes, 
the superb arch of her eyebrows, her well-formed aqui- 
line nose, her teeth as white as pearl, and the profusion 
of her sable tresses, which, each arranged in its own 
little spiral of twisted curls, fell down upon as much of 
a lovely neck and bosom as a simarre of the richest 
Persian silk, exhibiting flowers in their natural colours 
embossed upon a purple ground, permitted to be visible 
— all these constituted a combination of loveliness which 
yielded not to the most beautiful of the maidens who 


84 


IVANHOE 


surrounded her. It is true, that of the golden and 
pearl-studded clasps which closed her vest from the 
throat to the waist, the three uppermost were left un- 
fastened on account of the heat, which something en- 
larged the prospect to which we allude. A diamond 
necklace, with pendants of inestimable value, were by 
this means also made more conspicuous. The feather 
of an ostrich, fastened in her turban by an agraffe set 
with brilliants, was another distinction of the beautiful 
Jewess, scoffed and sneered at by the proud dames who 
sat above her, but secretly envied by those who affected 
to deride them. 

“ By the bald scalp of Abraham,” said Prince John, 
“yonder Jewess must be the very model of that perfec- 
tion ^hose charms drove frantic the wisest king that 
ever lived! What sayest thou. Prior Aymer.?^ By the 
Temple of that wise king, which our wiser brother 
Richard proved unable to recover, she is the very Bride 
of the Canticles I ” 

“The Rose of Sharon and the Lily of the Valley,” 
answered the Prior, in a sort of snuffling tone; “but 
your Grace must remember she is still but a Jewess.” 

“Ay!” added Prince John, without heeding him, 
“ and there is my Mammon of unrighteousness too — 
the Marquis of Marks, the Baron of Byzants, contest- 
ing for place with penniless dogs, whose threadbare 
cloaks have not a single cross in their pouches to keep 
the devil from dancing there. By the body of St. Mark, 
my prince of supplies, with his lovely Jewess, shall have 
a place in the gallery! What is she, Isaac.? Thy wife 
or thy daughter, that Eastern houri that thou lockest 
under thy arm as thou wouldst thy treasure-casket.?” 

“My daughter Rebecca, so please your Grace,” an- 
swered Isaac, with a low congee, nothing embarrassed 
by the Prince’s salutation, in which, however, there was 
at least as much mockery as courtesy. 

“ The wiser man thou,” said John, with a peal of 


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85 


laughter, in which his gay followers obsequiously 
j oined. “ But, daughter or wife, she should be pre- 
ferred according to her beauty and thy merits. Who 
sits above there ? ” he continued, bending his eye on the 
gallery. “ Saxon churls, lolling at their lazy length ! 
Out upon them ! let them sit close, and make room for 
my prince of usurers and his lovely daughter. I’ll 
make the hinds know they must share the high places 
of the synagogue with those whom the synagogue 
properly belongs to.” 

Those who occupied the gallery, to whom this injuri- 
ous and unpolite speech was addressed, were the family 
of Cedric the Saxon, with that of his ally and kinsman, 
Athelstane of Coningsburgh, a personage who, on ac- 
count of his descent from the last Saxon monarchs 
of England, was held in the highest respect by all the 
Saxon natives of the north of England. But with the 
blood of this ancient royal race many of their infirmities 
had descended to Athelstane. He was comely in coun- 
tenance, bulky and strong in person, and in the flower 
of his age ; yet inanimate in expression, dull-eyed, 
heavy -browed, inactive and sluggish in all his motions, 
and so slow in resolution, that the soubriquet of one of 
his ancestors was conferred upon him, and he was very 
generally called Athelstane the Unready. His friends 
— and he had many who, as well as Cedric, were pas- 
sionately attached to him — contended that this slug- 
gish temper arose not from want of courage, but from 
mere want of decision ; others alleged that his heredi- 
tary vice of drunkenness had obscured his faculties, 
never of a very acute order, and that the passive cour- 
age and meek good-nature which remained behind were 
merely the dregs of a character that might have been 
deserving of praise, but of which all the valuable parts 
had flown off in the progress of a long course of brutal 
debauchery. 

It was to this person, such as we have described him, 


86 


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that the Prince addressed his imperious command to 
make place for Isaac and Rebecca. Athelstane, utterly 
confounded at an order which the manners and feelings 
of the times rendered so injuriously insulting, unwill- 
ing to obey, yet undetermined how to resist, opposed 
only the vis inertice to the will of John ; and, without 
stirring or making any motion whatever of obedience, 
opened his large gray eyes and stared at the Prince 
with an astonishment which had in it something ex- 
tremely ludicrous. But the impatient John regarded it 
in no such light. 

‘‘ The Saxon porker,” he said, “ is either asleep or 
minds me not. Prick him with your lance, De Bracy,” 
speaking to a knight who rode near him, the leader of 
a band of free companions, or condottieii; that is, of 
mercenaries belonging to no particular nation, but 
attached for the time to any prince by whom they are 
paid. There was a murmur even among the attendants 
of Prince John; but De Bracy, whose profession freed 
him from all scruples, extended his long lance over the 
space which separated the gallery from the lists, and 
would have executed the commands of the Prince before 
Athelstane the Unready had recovered presence of mind 
sufficient even to draw back his person from the weapon, 
had not Cedric, as prompt as his companion was tardy, 
unsheathed, with the speed of lightning, the short sword 
which he wore, and at a single blow severed the point of 
the lance from the handle. The blood rushed into the 
countenance of Prince John. He swore one of his 
deepest oaths, and was about to utter some threat cor- 
responding in violence, when he was diverted from his 
purpose, partly by his own attendants, who gathered 
around him conjuring him to be patient, partly by 
a general exclamation of the crowd, uttered in loud 
applause of the spirited conduct of Cedric. The Prince 
rolled his eyes in indignation, as if to collect some safe 
and easy victim ; and chancing to encounter the firm 


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87 


glance of the same archer whom we have already noticed, 
and who seemed to persist in his gesture of applause, in 
spite of the frowning aspect which the Prince bent upon 
him, he demanded his reason for clamouring thus. 

“ I always add my hollo,” said the yeoman, “ when I 
see a good shot or a gallant blow.” 

“ Sayest thou.?”’ answered the Prince; “then thou 
canst hit the white thyself, I ’ll warrant.” 

“A woodsman’s mark, and at woodsman’s distance, 
I can hit,” answered the yeoman. 

“And Wat Tyrrel’s mark, at a hundred yards,” 
said a voice from behind, but by whom uttered could 
not be discerned. 

This allusion to the fate of William Rufus, his rela- 
tive, at once incensed and alarmed Prince John. He 
satisfied himself, however, with commanding the men- 
at-arms, who surrounded the lists, to keep an eye on 
the braggart, pointing to the yeoman. 

“ By St. Grizzel,” he added, “ we will try his own skill, 
who is so ready to give his voice to the feats of others ! ” 

“ I shall not fly the trial,” said the yeoman, with the 
composure which marked his whole deportment. 

“ Meanwhile, stand up, ye Saxon churls,” said the 
fiery Prince ; “ for, by the light of Heaven, since I have 
said it, the Jew shall have his seat amongst ye ! ” 

“ By no means, an it please your Grace ! It is not 
fit for such as we to sit with the rulers of the land,” said 
the Jew, whose ambition for precedence, though it had 
led him to dispute place with the extenuated and im- 
poverished descendant of the line of Montdidier, by no 
means stimulated him to an intrusion upon the privi- 
leges of the wealthy Saxons. 

“ Up, infidel dog, when I command you,” said Prince 
John, “ or I will have thy swarthy hide stript off and 
tanned for horse-furniture ! ” 

Thus urged, the Jew began to ascend the steep and 
narrow steps which led up to the gallery. 


88 


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Let me see,” said the Prince, “ who dare stop him ! ” 
fixing his eye on Cedric, whose attitude intimated his 
intention to hurl the Jew down headlong. 

The catastrophe was prevented by the clown Wamba, 
who, springing betwixt his master and Isaac, and ex- 
claiming, in answer to the Prince’s defiance, “ Marry, 
that will I!” opposed to the beard of the Jew a shield 
of brawn, which he plucked from beneath his cloak, 
and with which, doubtless, he had furnished himself lest 
the tournament should have proved longer than his 
appetite could endure abstinence. Finding the abomi- 
nation of his tribe opposed to his very nose, while the 
Jester at the same time flourished his wooden sword 
above his head, the Jew recoiled, missed his footing, 
and rolled down the steps — an excellent jest to the 
spectators, who set up a loud laughter, in which Prince 
John and his attendants heartily joined. 

“Deal me the prize, cousin Prince,” said Wamba; 
“ I have vanquished my foe in fair fight with sword and 
shield,” he added, brandishing the brawn in one hand 
and the wooden sword in the other. 

“Who and what art thou, noble champion?” said 
Prince John, still laughing. 

“A fool by right of descent,” answered the Jester; 
“I am Wamba, the son of Witless, who was the son 
of Weatherbrain, who was the son of an alderman.” 

“ Make room for the Jew in front of the lower ring,” 
said Prince John, not unwilling, perhaps, to seize an 
apology to desist from his original purpose ; “ to place 
the vanquished beside the victor were false heraldry.” 

“ Knave upon fool were worse,” answered the Jester, 
“ and Jew upon bacon worst of all.” 

“ Gramercy ! good fellow,” cried Prince John, “ thou 
pleasest me. Here, Isaac, lend me a handful of 
byzants.” 

As the Jew, stunned by the request, afraid to refuse 
and unwilling to comply, fumbled in the furred bag 


IVANHOE 


89 


which hung by his girdle, and was perhaps endeavour- 
ing to ascertain how few coins might pass for a handful, 
the Prince stooped from his jennet and settled Isaac’s 
doubts by snatching the pouch itself from his side; 
and flinging to Wamba a couple of the gold pieces 
which it contained, he pursued his career round the 
lists, leaving the Jew to the derision of those around 
him, and himself receiving as much applause from the 
spectators as if he had done some honest and honour- 
able action. 


CHAPTER VIII 

At this the challenger with fierce defy 

His trumpet sounds ; the challenged makes reply. 

With clangour rings the field, resounds the vaulted sky. 

Their visors closed, their lances in the rest. 

Or at the helmet pointed or the crest, 

They vanish from the barrier, speed the race, 

And spurring see decrease the middle space. 

Palamon and Arcite, 

I N the midst of Prince John’s cavalcade, he suddenly 
stopt, and, appealing to the Prior of Jorvaulx, 
declared the principal business of the day had 
been forgotten. 

“ By my halidom,” said he, “ we have forgotten. Sir 
Prior, to name the fair Sovereign of Love and of 
Beauty, by whose white hand the palm is to be dis- 
tributed. For my part, I am liberal in my ideas, 
and I care not if I give my vote for the black-eyed 
Rebecca.” 

“ Holy Virgin,” answered the Prior, turning up his 
eyes in horror, “ a Jewess ! We should deserve to be 
stoned out of the lists ; and I am not yet old enough 
to be a martyr. Besides, I swear by my patron saint 
that she is far inferior to the lovely Saxon, Rowena.” 


90 


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‘‘Saxon or Jew,” answered the Prince — “Saxon or 
Jew, dog or hog, what matters it! I say, name Re- 
becca, were it only to mortify the Saxon churls.” 

A murmur arose even among his own immediate 
attendants. 

“This passes a jest, my lord,” said De Bracy; “no 
knight here will lay lance in rest if such an insult is 
attempted.” 

“ It is the mere wantonness of insult,” said one of 
the oldest and most important of Prince John’s fol- 
lowers, Waldemar Fitzurse, “ and if your Grace at- 
tempts it, cannot but prove ruinous to your projects.” 

“ I entertained you, sir,” said John, reining up his 
palfrey haughtily, “ for my follower, but not for my 
counsellor.” 

“ Those who follow your Grace in the paths which 
you tread,” said Waldemar, but speaking in a low 
voice, “ acquire the right of counsellors ; for your in- 
terest and safety are not more deeply engaged than 
their own.” 

From the tone in which this was spoken, John saw 
the necessity of acquiescence. “ I did but jest,” he said ; 
“and you turn upon me like so many adders! Name 
whom you will, in the fiend’s name, and please 
yourselves.” 

“Nay, nay,” said De Bracy, “let the fair sov- 
ereign’s throne remain unoccupied until the conqueror 
shall be named, and then let him choose the lady by 
whom it shall be filled. It will add another grace to his 
triumph, and teach fair ladies to prize the love of 
valiant knights, who can exalt them to such distinction.” 

“ If Brian de Bois-Guilbert gain the prize,” said the 
Prior, “ I will gage my rosary that I name the 
Sovereign of Love and Beauty.” 

“ Bois-Guilbert,” answered De Bracy, “ is a good 
lance; but there are others around these lists. Sir 
Prior, who will not fear to encounter him.” 


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91 


“Silence, sirs,” said Waldemar, “and let the Prince 
assume his seat. The knights and spectators are alike 
impatient, the time advances, and highly fit it is that 
the sports should commence.” 

Prince John, though no>t yet a monarch, had in 
Waldemar Fitzurse all the inconveniences of a favourite 
minister, who, in serving his sovereign, must always 
do so in his own way. The Prince acquiesced, however, 
although his disposition was precisely of that kind 
which is apt to be obstinate upon trifles, and, assuming 
his throne, and being surrounded by his followers, gave 
signal to the heralds to proclaim the laws of the tour- 
nament, which were briefly as follows: — 

First, the five challengers were to undertake all 
comers. 

Secondly, any knight proposing to combat might, if 
he pleased, select a special antagonist from among the 
challengers, by touching his shield. If he did so with 
the reverse of his lance, the trial of skill was made 
with what were called the arms of courtesy, that is, 
with lances at whose extremity a piece of round flat 
board was fixed, so that no danger was encountered, 
save from the shock of the horses and riders. But if 
the shield was touched with the sharp end of the 
lance, the combat was understood to be at outrance, 
that is, the knights were to fight with sharp weapons, 
as in actual battle. 

Thirdly, when the knights present had accomplished 
their vow, by each of them breaking five lances, the 
Prince was to declare the victor in the first day’s tour- 
ney, who should receive as prize a war-horse of exqui- 
site beauty and matchless strength; and in addition to 
this reward of valour, it was now declared, he should 
have the peculiar honour of naming the Queen of Love 
and Beauty, by whom the prize should be given on the 
ensuing day. 

Fourthly, it was announced that, on the second day. 


92 


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there should be a general tournament, in which all the 
knights present, who were desirous to win praise, might 
take part; and being divided into two bands, of equal 
numbers, might fight it out manfully until the signal 
was given by Prince John to cease the combat. The 
elected Queen of Love and Beauty was then to crown 
the knight, whom the Prince should adjudge to have 
borne himself best in this second day, with a coronet 
composed of thin gold plate, cut into the shape of a 
laurel crown. On this second day the knightly games 
ceased. But on that which was to follow, feats of 
archery, of bull-baiting, and other popular amuse- 
ments were to be practised, for the more immediate 
amusement of the populace. In this manner did Prince 
John endeavour to lay the foundation of a popularity 
which he was perpetually throwing down by some in- 
considerate act of wanton aggression upon the feelings 
and prejudices of the people. 

The lists now presented a most splendid spectacle. 
The sloping galleries were crowded with all that was 
noble, great, wealthy, and beautiful in the northern and 
midland parts of England ; and the contrast of the vari- 
ous dresses of these dignified spectators rendered the 
view as gay as it was rich, while the interior and lower 
space, filled with the substantial burgesses and yeomen 
of merry England, formed, in their more plain attire, 
a dark fringe, or border, around this circle of brilliant 
embroidery, relieving, and at the same time setting off, 
its splendour. 

The heralds finished their proclamation with their 
usual cry of “ Largesse, largesse, gallant knights ! ” 
and gold and silver pieces were showered on them from 
the galleries, it being a high point of chivalry to ex- 
hibit liberality towards those whom the age accounted 
at once the secretaries and the historians of honour. 
The bounty of the spectators was acknowledged by 
the customary shouts of “Love of ladies — Death of 


IVANHOE 


93 


champions — Honour to the generous — Glory to the 
brave!” To which the more humble spectators added 
their acclamations, and a numerous band of trumpeters 
the flourish of their martial instruments. When these 
sounds had ceased, the heralds withdrew from the lists 
in gay and glittering procession, and none remained 
within them save the marshals of the fleld, who, armed 
cap-a-pie, sat on horseback, motionless as statues, at 
the opposite ends of the lists. Meantime, the enclosed 
space at the northern extremity of the lists, large as 
it was, was now completely crowded with knights de- 
sirous to prove their skill against the challengers, and, 
when viewed from the galleries, presented the appear- 
ance of a sea of waving plumage, intermixed with 
glistening helmets and tall lances, to the extremities 
of which were, in many cases, attached small pennons 
of about a span’s breadth, which, fluttering in the air 
as the breeze caught them, joined with the restless 
motion of the feathers to add liveliness to the scene. 

At length the barriers were opened, and five knights, 
chosen by lot, advanced slowly into the area; a single 
champion riding in front, and the other four following 
in pairs. All were splendidly armed, and my Saxon 
authority (in the Wardour Manuscript) records at 
great length their devices, their colours, and the em- 
broidery of their horse trappings. It is unnecessary 
to be particular on these subjects. To borrow lines 
from a contemporary poet, who has written but too 
little — 

The knights are dust, 

And their good swords are rust, 

Their souls are with the saints, we trust. 

Their escutcheons have long mouldered from the walls 
of their castles. Their castles themselves are but green 
mounds and shattered ruins: the place that once knew 
them, knows them no more — nay, many a race since 
theirs has died out and been forgotten in the very land 


94 


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which they occupied with all the authority of feudal 
proprietors and feudal lords. What, then, would it 
avail the reader to know their names, or the evanescent 
symbols of their martial rank.? 

Now, however, no whit anticipating the oblivion 
which awaited their names and feats, the champions 
advanced through the lists, restraining their fiery 
steeds, and compelling them to move slowly, while, at 
the same time, they exhibited their paces, together with 
the grace and dexterity of the riders. As the proces- 
sion entered the lists, the sound of a wild barbaric music 
was heard from behind the tents of the challengers, 
where the performers were concealed. It was of East- 
ern origin, having been brought from the Holy Land; 
and the mixture of the cymbals and bells seemed to bid 
welcome at once, and defiance, to the knights as they 
advanced. With the eyes of an immense concourse of 
spectators fixed upon them, the five knights advanced 
up the platform upon which the tents of the challengers 
stood, and there separating themselves, each touched 
slightly, and with the reverse of his lance, the shield of 
the antagonist to whom he wished to oppose himself. 
The lower orders of spectators in general — nay, many 
of the higher class, and it is even said several of the 
ladies — were rather disappointed at the champions 
choosing the arms of courtesy. For the same sort of 
persons who, in the present day, applaud most highly 
the deepest tragedies were then interested in a tourna- 
ment exactly in proportion to the danger incurred by 
the champions engaged. 

Having intimated their more pacific purpose, the 
champions retreated to the extremity of the lists, where 
they remained drawn up in a line; while the challengers, 
sallying each from his pavilion, mounted their horses, 
and, headed by Brian de Bois-Guilbert, descended from 
the platform and opposed themselves individually to the 
knights who had touched their respective shields. 


IVANHOE 


95 


At the flourish of clarions and trumpets, they started 
out against each other at full gallop ; and such was the 
superior dexterity or good fortune of the challengers, 
that those opposed to Bois-Guilbert, Malvoisin, and 
Front-de-Boeuf rolled on the ground. The antagonist 
of Grantmesnil, instead of bearing his lance-point fair 
against the crest or the shield of his enemy, swerved so 
much from the direct line as to break the weapon 
athwart the person of his opponent — a circumstance 
which was accounted more disgraceful than that of being 
actually unhorsed, because the latter might happen 
from accident, whereas the former evinced awkwardness 
and want of management of the weapon and of the 
horse. The fifth knight alone maintained the honour 
of his party, and parted fairly with the Knight of St. 
John both splintering their lances without advantage 
on either side. 

The shouts of the multitude, together with the accla- 
mations of the heralds and the clangour of the trum- 
pets, announced the triumph of the victors and the 
defeat of the vanquished. The former retreated to 
their pavilions, and the latter, gathering themselves 
up as they could, withdrew from the lists in disgrace 
and dejection, to agree with their victors concerning 
the redemption of their arms and their horses, which, 
according to the laws of the tournament, they had for- 
feited. The fifth of their number alone tarried in the 
lists long enough to be greeted by the applauses of the 
spectators, amongst whom he retreated, to the aggra- 
vation, doubtless, of his companions’ mortification. 

A second and a third party of knights took the field ; 
and although they had various success, yet, upon the 
whole, the advantage decidedly remained with the 
challengers, not one of whom lost his seat or swerved 
from his charge — misfortunes which befell one or 
two of their antagonists in each encounter. The spir- 
its, therefore, of those opposed to them seemed to be 


96 


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considerably damped by their continued success. Three 
knights only appeared on the fourth entry, who, 
avoiding the shields of Bois-Guilbert and Front-de- 
Boeuf, contented themselves with touching those of the 
three other knights who had not altogether manifested 
the same strength and dexterity. Tliis pohtic selection 
did not alter the fortune of the field: the challengers 
were still successful. One of their antagonists was over- 
thrown ; and both the others failed in the attaint, that 
is, in striking the helmet and shield of their antagonist 
firmly and strongly, with the lance held in a direct hne, 
so that the weapon might break unless the champion 
was overthrown. 

After this fourth encounter, there was a considera- 
ble pause ; nor did it appear that any one was very 
desirous of renewing the contest. The spectators mur- 
mured among themselves ; for, among the challengers, 
Malvoisin and Front-de-Boeuf were unpopular from 
their characters, and the others, except Grantmesnil, 
were disliked as strangers and foreigners. 

But none shared the general feeling of dissatisfac- 
tion so keenly as Cedric the Saxon, who saw, in each 
advantage gained by the Norman challengers, a re- 
peated triumph over the honour of England. His own 
education had taught him no skill in the games of 
chivalry, although, with the arms of his Saxon ances- 
tors, he had manifested himself, on many occasions, 
a brave and determined soldier. He looked anxiously 
to Athelstane, who had learned the accomplishments of 
the age, as if desiring that he should make some per- 
sonal effort to recover the victory which was passing 
into the hands of the Templar and his associates. But, 
though both stout of heart and strong of person, 
Athelstane had a disposition too inert and unambi- 
tious to make the exertions which Cedric seemed to 
expect from him. 

“ The day is against England, my lord,” said Cedric, 


IVANHOE 97 

in a marked tone ; “ are you not tempted to take the 
lance? ” 

“I shall tilt to-morrow,” answered Athelstane, “in 
the inelee; it is not worth while for me to arm myself 
to-day.” 

Two things displeased Cedric in this speech. It con- 
tained the Norman word melee (to express the general 
conflict) , and it evinced some indifference to the honour 
of the country ; but it was spoken by Athelstane, whom 
he held in such profound respect that he would not 
trust himself to canvass his motives or his foibles. 
Moreover, he had no time to make any remark, for 
Wamba thrust in his word, observing, “It was better, 
though scarce easier, to be the best man among a hun- 
dred than the best man of two.” 

Athelstane took the observation as a serious compli- 
ment ; but Cedric, who better understood the Jester’s 
meaning, darted at him a severe and menacing look ; 
and lucky it was for Wamba, perhaps, that the time 
and place prevented his receiving, notwithstanding his 
place and service, more sensible marks of his master’s 
resentment. 

The pause in the tournament was still uninterrupted, 
excepting by the voices of the heralds exclaiming — 
“ Love of ladies, splintering of lances ! stand forth, 
gallant knights, fair eyes look upon your deeds!” 

The music also of the challengers breathed from time 
to time wild bursts expressive of triumph or defiance, 
while the clowns grudged a holiday which seemed to 
pass aw ay in inactivity ; and old knights and nobles 
Jamented in whispers the decay of martial spirit, spoke 
of the triumphs of their younger days, but agreed that 
the land did not now supply dames of such transcendent 
beauty as had animated tlie jousts of former times. 
Prince John began to talk to his attendants about 
making ready the banquet, and the necessity of adjudg- 
ing the prize to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who had, with 

7 


98 


IVANHOE 


a single spear, overthrown two knights and foiled a 
third. 

At length, as the Saracenic music of the challengers 
concluded one of those long and high flourishes with 
which they had broken the silence of the lists, it was 
answered by a solitary trumpet, which breathed a note 
of defiance from the northern extremity. All eyes were 
turned to see the new champion which these sounds an- 
nounced, and no sooner were the barriers opened than 
he paced into the lists. As far as could be judged of 
a man sheathed in armour, the new adventurer did not 
greatly exceed the middle size, and seemed to be rather 
slender than strongly made. His suit of armour was 
formed of steel, richly inlaid with gold, and the device 
on his shield was a young oak-tree pulled up by the 
roots, with the Spanish word Desdichado, signifying 
Disinherited. He was mounted on a gallant black 
horse, and as he passed through the lists he gracefully 
saluted the Prince and the ladies by lowering his lance. 
The dexterity with which he managed his steed, and 
something of youthful grace which he displayed in his 
manner, won him the favour of the multitude, which 
some of the lower classes expressed by calling out, 
‘‘Touch Ralph de Vipont’s shield — touch the Hospi- 
taller’s shield; he has the least sure seat, he is your 
cheapest bargain.” 

The champion, moving onward amid these well-meant 
hints, ascended the platfonn by the sloping alley which 
led to it from the lists, and, to the astonishment of all 
present, riding straight up to the central pavilion, 
struck with the sharp end of his spear the shield of 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert until it rang again. All stood 
astonished at his presumption, but none more than 
the redoubted Knight whom he had thus defied to 
mortal combat, and who, little expecting so rude a 
challenge, was standing carelessly at the door of the 
pavilion. 


IVANHOE 


99 


“Have you confessed yourself, brother,” said the 
Templar, “ and have you heard mass this morning, that 
you peril your life so frankly?” 

“ I am fitter to meet death than thou art,” answered 
the Disinherited Knight ; for by this name the stranger 
had recorded himself in the books of the tourney. 

“ Then take your place in the lists,” said Bois- 
Guilbert, “ and look your last upon the sun ; for this 
night thou shalt sleep in paradise.” 

“ Gramercy for thy courtesy,” replied the Disin- 
herited Knight, “ and to requite it, I advise thee to 
take a fresh horse and a new lance, for by my honour 
you will need both.” 

Having expressed himself thus confidently, he reined 
his horse backward down the slope which he had as- 
cended, and compelled him in the same manner to move 
backward through the lists, till he reached the northern 
extremity, where he remained stationary, in expectation 
of his antagonist. This feat of horsemanship again 
attracted the applause of the multitude. 

However incensed at his adversary for the precau- 
tions which he recommended, Brian de Bois-Guilbert did 
not neglect his advice; for his honour was too nearly 
concerned to permit his neglecting any means which 
might ensure victory over his presumptuous opponent. 
He changed his horse for a proved and fresh one of 
great strength and spirit. He chose a new and a tough 
spear, lest the wood of the former might have been 
strained in the previous encounters he had sustained. 
Lastly, he laid aside his shield, which had received some 
little damage, and received another from his squires. 
His first had only borne the general device of his rider, 
representing two knights riding upon one horse, an 
emblem expressive of the original humility and poverty 
of the Templars, qualities which they had since ex- 
changed for the arrogance and wealth that finally oc- 
casioned their suppression. Bois-GuilbeH’s new shield 


100 


IVANHOE 


bore a raven in full flight, holding in its claws a skull, 
and bearing the motto, Gare le Corheau. 

When the two champions stood opposed to each other 
at the two extremities of the lists, the public expectation 
was strained to the highest pitch. Few augured the 
possibility that the encounter could terminate well for 
the Disinherited Knight; yet his courage and gallantry 
secured the general good wishes of the spectators. 

The trumpets had no sooner given the signal, than 
the champions vanished from their posts with the speed 
of lightning, and closed in the centre of the lists with 
the shock of a thunderbolt. The lances burst into 
shivers up to the very grasp, and it seemed at the mo- 
ment that both knights had fallen, for the shock had 
made each horse recoil backwards upon its haunches. 
The address of the riders recovered their steeds by use 
of the bridle and spur; and having glared on each 
other for an instant with eyes wliich seemed to flash fire 
through the bars of their visors, each made a demi-volt, 
and, retiring to' the extremity of the lists, received a 
fresh lance from the attendants. 

A loud shout from the spectators, waving of scarfs 
and handkerchiefs, and general acclamations, attested 
the interest taken by the spectators in tliis encounter 
— the most equal, as well as the best performed, wliich 
had graced the day. But no sooner had the knights 
resumed their station than the clamour of applause was 
hushed into a silence so deep and so dead that it seemed 
the multitude were afraid even to breathe. 

A feiv minutes’ pause having been allowed, that the 
combatants and their horses might recover breath. 
Prince John with his truncheon signed to the trumpets 
to sound the onset. The champions a second time 
sprung from their stations, and closed in the centre of 
the lists, with the same speed, the same dexterity, the 
same violence, but not the same equal fortune as before. 

In this second encounter, the Templar aimed at the 


IVANHOE 


101 


centre of his antagonist’s shield, and struck it so fair 
and forcibly that his spear went to shivers, and the 
Disinherited Knight reeled in his saddle. On the other 
hand, that champion had, in the beginning of his career, 
directed the point of his lance towards Bois-Guilbert’s 
shield, but, changing his aim almost in the moment of 
encounter, he addressed it to the helmet, a mark more 
difficult to hit, but which, if attained, rendered the shock 
more irresistible. Fair and true he hit the Norman 
on the visor, where his lance’s point kept hold of the 
bars. Yet, even at this disadvantage, the Templar 
sustained his high reputation ; and had not the girths 
of his saddle burst, he might not have been unhorsed. 
As it chanced, however, saddle, horse, and man rolled 
on the ground under a cloud of dust. 

To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen 
steed was to the Templar scarce the work of a moment ; 
and, stung with madness, both at his disgrace and at 
the acclamations with which it was hailed by the spec- 
tators, he drew his sword and waved it in defiance of 
his conqueror. The Disinherited Knight sprung from 
his steed, and also unsheathed his sword. The marshals 
of the field, however, spurred their horses between them, 
and reminded them that the laws of the tournament did 
not, on the present occasion, permit this species of en- 
counter. 

“We shall meet again, I trust,” said the Templar, 
casting a resentful glance at his antagonist ; “ and 
where there are none to separate us.” 

“ If we do not,” said the Disinherited Knight, “ the 
fault shall not be mine. On foot or horseback, with 
spear, with axe, or with sword, I am alike ready to 
encounter thee.” 

More and angrier words would have been exchanged, 
but the marshals, crossing their lances betwixt them, 
compelled them to separate. The Disinherited Knight 
returned to his first station, and Bois-Guilbert to his 


102 WANHOE 

tent, where he remained for the rest of the day in an 
agony of despair. 

Without alighting from his horse, the conqueror 
called for a bowl of wine, and opening the beaver, or 
lower part of his helmet, announced that he quaffed it, 
“ To all true English hearts, and to the confusion of 
foreign tyrants.” He then commanded his trumpet 
to sound a defiance to the challengers, and desired a 
herald to announce to them that he should make no 
election, but was willing to encounter them in the order 
in which they pleased to advance against him. 

The gigantic Front-de-Boeuf, armed in sable armour, 
was the first who took the field. He bore on a white 
shield a black bull’s head, half defaced by the numerous 
encounters which he had undergone, and bearing the 
arrogant motto. Cave, Adsum. Over this champion the 
Disinherited Knight obtained a slight but decisive ad- 
vantage. Both Knights broke their lances fairly, but 
Front-de-Boeuf, who lost a stirrup in the encounter, was 
adjudged to have the disadvantage. 

In the stranger’s third encounter with Sir Philip 
Malvoisin he was equally successful ; striking that baron 
so forcibly on the casque that the laces of the helmet 
broke, and Malvoisin, only saved from falling by 
being unhelmeted, was declared vanquished like his 
companions. 

In his fourth combat with De Grantmesnil the Disin- 
herited Knight showed as much courtesy as he had 
hitherto evinced courage and dexterity. De Grantmes- 
nil’ s horse, which was young and violent, reared and 
plunged in the course of the career so as to disturb the 
rider’s aim, and the stranger, declining to take the 
advantage which this accident afforded him, raised his 
lance, and passing his antagonist without touching him, 
wheeled his horse and rode back again to his own end 
of the lists, offering his antagonist, by a herald, the 
chance of a second encounter. This De Grantmesnil 


IVANHOE 


103 


declined, avowing liimself vanquished as much by the 
courtesy as by the address of his opponent. 

Ralph de Vipont summed up the list of the stranger’s 
triumphs, being hurled to the ground with such force 
that the blood gushed from his nose and his mouth, and 
he was borne senseless from the lists. 

The acclamations of thousands applauded the unani- 
mous award of the Prince and marshals, announcing 
that day’s honours to the Disinherited Knight. 


CHAPTER IX 


In the midst was seen 
A lady of a more majestic mien. 

By stature and by beauty mark’d their sovereign Queen. 


And as in beauty she surpass’d the choir. 

So nobler than the rest was her attire; 

A crown of ruddy gold enclosed her brow, 

Plain without pomp, and rich without a show; 

A branch of Agnus Castus in her hand. 

She bore aloft her symbol of command. 

The Flower and the Leaf. 

W ILLIAM DE WYVIL and Stephen de Mar- 
tival, the marshals of the field, were the first 
to offer their congratulations to the victor, 
praying him, at the same time, to suffer his helmet to 
be unlaced, or, at least, that he would raise his visor ere 
they conducted him to receive the prize of the day’s 
tourney from the hands of Prince John. The Disin- 
herited Knight, with all knightly courtesy, declined 
their request, alleging, that he could not at this time 
suffer his face to be seen, for reasons which he had as- 
signed to the heralds when he entered the lists. The 
marshals were perfectly satisfied by this reply; for 
amidst the frequent and capricious vows by which 
knights were accustomed to bind themselves in the days 


104 


IVANHOE 


of chivalry, there were none more common than those by 
which they engaged to remain incognito for a certain 
space, or until some particular adventure was achieved. 
The marshals, therefore, pressed no further into the 
mystery of the Disinherited Knight, but, announcing 
to Prince John the conqueror’s desire to remain un- 
known, they requested permission to bring him before 
his Grace, in order that he might receive the reward of 
his valour. 

John’s curiosity was excited by the mystery observed 
by the stranger; and, being already displeased with 
the issue of the tournament, in which the challengers 
whom he favoured had been successfully defeated by 
one knight, he answered haughtily to the marshals, “ By 
the light of Our Lady’s brow, this same knight hath 
been disinherited as well of his courtesy as of his lands, 
since he desires to appear before us without uncovering 
his face. Wot ye, my lords,” he said, turning round to 
his train, “ who this gallant can be that bears himself 
thus proudly ? ” 

“ I cannot guess,” answered De Bracy, “ nor did I 
think there had been within the four seas that girth 
Britain a champion that could bear down these five 
knights in one day’s jousting. By my faith, I shall 
never forget the force with which he shocked De Vipont. 
The poor Hospitaller was hurled from his saddle like 
a stone from a sling.” 

“ Boast not of that,” said a Knight of St. John who 
was present; “your Temple champion had no better 
luck. I saw your brave lance, Bois-Guilbert, roll thrice 
over, grasping his hands full of sand at every turn.” 

De Bracy, being attached to the Templars, would 
have replied, but was prevented by Prince John. 
“ Silence, sirs ! ” he said ; “ what unprofitable debate 
have we here.f^ ” 

“ The victor,” said De Wyvil, “ still waits the pleas- 
ure of your Highness.” 


IVANHOE 


105 


is our pleasure,” answered John, “that he do so 
wait until we learn whether there is not some one who 
can at least guess at his name and quality. Should he 
remain there till nightfall, he has had work enough to 
keep him warm.” 

“Your Grace,” said Waldemar Fitzurse, “will do 
less than due honour to the victor if you compel him 
to wait till we tell your Highness that which we cannot 
know ; at least I can form no guess — unless he be one 
of the good lances who accompanied King Richard to 
Palestine, and who are now straggling homeward from 
the Holy Land.” 

“ It may be the Earl of Salisbury,” said De Bracy ; 
“ he is about the same pitch.” 

“ Sir Thomas de Multon, the Knight of Gilsland, 
rather,” said Fitzurse ; “ Salisbury is bigger in the 
bones.” A whisper arose among the train, but by 
whom first suggested could not be ascertained. “ It 
might be the King — it might be Richard Coeur-de- 
Lion himself ! ” 

“Over God’s forbode!” said Prince John, involun- 
tarily turning at the same time as pale as death, and 
shrinking as if blighted by a flash of lightning ; 
“Waldemar! De Bracy! brave knights and gen- 
tlemen, remember your promises, and stand truly 
by me ! ” 

“Here is no danger impending,” said Waldemar 
Fitzurse; “are you so little acquainted with the gigan- 
tic limbs of your father’s son, as to think they can be 
held within the circumference of yonder suit of armour.? 
De Wyvil and Martival, you will best serve the Prince 
by bringing forward the victor to the throne, and end- 
ing an error that has conjured all the blood from his 
cheeks. Look at him more closely,” he continued ; “ your 
Highness will see that he wants three inches of King 
Richard’s height, and twice as much of his shoulder- 
breadth. The very horse he backs could not have 


106 IVANHOE 

carried the ponderous weight of King Richard through 
a single course.” 

While he was yet speaking, the marshals brought 
forward the Disinherited Knight to the foot of a 
wooden flight of steps, which formed the ascent from the 
lists to Prince John’s throne. Still discomposed with 
the idea that his brother, so much injured, and to whom 
he was so much indebted, had suddenly arrived in his 
native kingdom, even the distinctions pointed out by 
Fitzurse did not altogether remove the Prince’s appre- 
hensions; and while, with a short and embarrassed 
eulogy upon his valour, he caused to be delivered to him 
the war-horse assigned as the prize, he trembled lest 
from the barred visor of the mailed form before him an 
answer might be returned in the deep and awful accents 
of Richard the Lion-hearted. 

But the Disinherited Knight spoke not a word in 
reply to the compliment of the Prince, which he only 
acknowledged with a profound obeisance. 

The horse was led into the lists by two grooms richly 
dressed, the animal itself being fully accoutred with 
the richest war-furniture ; which, however, scarcely 
added to the value of the noble creature in the eyes of 
those who were judges. Laying one hand upon the 
pommel of the saddle, the Disinherited Knight vaulted 
at once upon the back of the steed without making use 
of the stirrup, and, brandishing aloft his lance, rode 
twice around the lists, exhibiting the points and paces 
of the horse with the skill of a perfect horseman. 

The appearance of vanity which might otherwise 
have been attributed to this display was removed by the 
propriety shown in exhibiting to the best advantage the 
princely reward with which he had been just honoured, 
and the Knight was again greeted by the acclamations 
of all present. 

In the meanwhile, the bustling Prior of Jorvaulx had 
reminded Prince John, in a whisper, that the victor 


IVANHOE 


107 


must now display his good judgment, instead of liis 
valour, by selecting from among the beauties who 
graced the galleries a lady who should fill the throne 
of the Queen of Beauty and of Love, and deliver the 
prize of the tourney, upon the ensuing day. The Prince 
accordingly made a sign with his truncheon as the 
Knight passed him in his second career around the lists. 
The Knight turned towards the throne, and, sinking 
his lance until the point was within a foot of the ground, 
remained motionless, as if expecting John’s commands ; 
while all admired the sudden dexterity with which he 
instantly reduced his fiery steed from a state of violent 
emotion and high excitation to the stillness of an eques- 
trian statue. 

“ Sir Disinherited Knight,” said Prince John, “ since 
that is the only title by which we can address you, it is 
now your duty, as well as privilege, to name the fair 
lady who, as Queen of Honour and of Love, is to preside 
over next day’s festival. If, as a stranger in our land, 
you should require the aid of other judgment to guide 
your own, we can only say that Alicia, the daughter 
of our gallant knight Waldemar Fitzurse, has at our 
court been long held the first in beauty as in place. 
Nevertheless, it is your undoubted prerogative to confer 
on whom you please this crown, by the delivery of which 
to the lady of your choice the election of to-morrow’s 
Queen will be formal and complete. Raise your lance.” 

The Knight obeyed; and Prince John placed upon 
its point a coronet of green satin, having around its 
edge a circlet of gold, the upper edge of which was 
relieved by arrow-points and hearts placed interchange- 
ably, like the strawberry leaves and balls upon a ducal 
crown. 

In the broad hint which he dropped respecting the 
daughter of Waldemar Fitzurse, John had more than 
one motive, each the offspring of a mind which was a 
strange mixture of carelessness and presumption with 


108 


IVANHOE 


low artifice and cunning. He wished to banish from 
the minds of the chivalry around him his own indecent 
and unacceptable jest respecting the Jewess Rebecca; 
he was desirous of conciliating Alicia’s father, Wal- 
demar, of whom he stood in awe, and who had more than 
once shown himself dissatisfied during the course of the 
day’s proceedings. He had also a wish to establish 
himself in the good graces of the lady ; for John was 
at least as licentious in liis pleasures as profligate in 
his ambitidn. But besides all these reasons, he was de- 
sirous to raise up against the Disinherited Knight, 
towards whom he already entertained a strong dislike, 
a powerful enemy in the person of Waldemar Fitzurse, 
who was likely, he thought, highly to resent the injury 
done to his daughter in case, as was not unlikely, the 
victor should make another choice. 

And so indeed it proved. For the Disinherited 
Knight passed the gallery, close to that of the Prince, 
in which the Lady Alicia was seated in the full pride 
of triumphant beauty, and pacing forwards as slowly 
as he had hitherto rode swiftly around the lists, he 
seemed to exercise his right of examining the numerous 
fair faces which adorned that splendid circle. 

It was worth while to see the different conduct of the 
beauties who underwent this examination, during the 
time it was proceeding. Some blushed; some assumed 
an air of pride and dignity ; some looked straight for- 
ward, and essayed to seem utterly unconscious of what 
was going on ; some drew back in alarm, which was per- 
haps affected; some endeavoured to forbear smiling; 
and there were two or three who laughed outright. 
There were also some who dropped their veils over their 
charms; but as the Wardour Manuscript says these 
were fair ones of ten years’ standing, it may be sup- 
posed that, having had their full share of such vanities, 
they were willing to withdraw their claim in order to 
give a fair chance to the rising beauties of the age. 


IVANHOE 


109 


At length the champion paused beneath the balcony 
in which the Lady Rowena was placed, and the expec- 
tation of the spectators was excited to the utmost. 

It must be owned that, if an interest displayed in his 
success could have bribed the Disinherited Knight, the 
part of the lists before which he paused had merited 
his predilection. Cedric the Saxon, overjoyed at the 
discomfiture of the Templar, and still more so at the 
miscarriage of his two malevolent neighbours, Front-de- 
Boeuf and Malvoisin, had, with his body half-stretched 
over the balcony, accompanied the victor in each course 
not with liis eyes only, but with his whole heart and 
soul. The Lady Rowena had watched the progress of 
the day with equal attention, though without openly 
betraying the same intense interest. Even the unmoved 
Athelstane had shown symptoms of shaking off his 
apathy, when, calling for a huge goblet of musca- 
dine, he quaffed it to the health of the Disinherited 
Knight. 

Another group, stationed under the gallery occupied 
by the Saxons, had shown no less interest in the fate 
of the day. 

“Father Abraham!” said Isaac of York, when the 
first course was run betwixt the Templar and the Dis- 
inherited Knight, “ how fiercely that Gentile rides I 
Ah, the good horse that was brought all the long way 
from Barbary, he takes no more care of him than if 
he were a wild ass’s colt; and the noble armour that 
was worth so many zecchins to Joseph Pareira, the 
armourer of IMilan, besides seventy in the hundred of 
profits, he cares for it as little as if he had found it in 
the highways!” 

“ If he risks his own person and limbs, father,” said 
Rebecca, “ in doing such a dreadful battle, he can scarce 
be expected to spare his horse and armour.” 

“ Child ! ” replied Isaac, somewhat heated, “ thou 
knowest not what thou speakest. Flis neck and limbs 


110 


IVANHOE 


are his own; but his horse and armour belong to — 
Holy Jacob! what was I about to say? Nevertheless, 
it is a good youth. See, Rebecca! — sec, he is again 
about to go up to battle against the Philistine ! Pray, 
child — pray for the safety of the good youth; and of 
the speedy horse and the rich armour. God of my 
fathers ! ’’ he again exclaimed, “ he hath conquered, and 
the uncircumcised Philistine hath fallen before his lance, 
even as Og the King of Bashan, and Sihon, King of the 
Amorites, fell before the sword of our fathers ! Surely 
he shall take their gold and their silver, and their war- 
horses, and their armour of brass and of steel, for a 
prey and for a spoil.” 

The same anxiety did the worthy Jew display during 
every course that was run, seldom failing to hazard a 
hasty calculation concerning the value of the horse and 
armour which were forfeited to the champion upon each 
new success. There had been therefore no small in- 
terest taken in the success of the Disinherited Knight 
by those who occupied the part of the lists before which 
he now paused. 

Whether from indecision or some other motive of 
hesitation, the champion of the day remained stationary 
for more than a minute, while the eyes of the silent audi- 
ence were riveted upon his motions ; and then, gradu- 
ally and gracefully sinking the point of his lance, he 
deposited the coronet which it supported at the feet 
of the fair Rowena. The trumpets instantly sounded, 
while the heralds proclaimed the Lady Rowena the 
Queen of Beauty and of Love for the ensuing day, men- 
acing with suitable penalties those who should be dis- 
obedient to her authority. They then repeated their 
cry of “Largesse,” to which Cedric, in the height of 
his joy, replied by an ample donative, and to which 
Athelstane, though less promptly, added one equally 
large. 

There was some munuuring among the damsels of 


IVANHOE 


111 


Norman descent, who were as much unused to see the 
preference given to a Saxon beauty as the Norman 
nobles were to sustain defeat in the games of chivalry 
which they themselves had introduced. But these sounds 
of disaffection were drowned by the popular shout of 
“ Long live the Lady Rowena, the chosen and lawful 
Queen of Love and of Beauty ! ” To which many in the 
lower area added, “ Long live the Saxon Princess ! long 
live the race of the immortal Alfred.” 

However unacceptable those sounds might be to 
Prince John and to those around him, he saw himself 
nevertheless obliged to confirm the nomination of the 
victor, and accordingly calling to horse, he left his 
throne, and mounting his jennet, accompanied by his 
train, he again entered the lists. The Prince paused 
a moment beneath the gallery of the Lady Alicia, to 
whom he paid his compliments, observing, at the same 
time, to those around him — “ By my halidome, sirs ! 
if the Knight’s feats in arms have shown that he hath 
limbs and sinews, his choice hath no less proved that 
his eyes are none of the clearest.” 

It was on this occasion, as during his whole life, 
John’s misfortune not perfectly to understand the char- 
acters of those whom he wished to conciliate. Waldemar 
Fitzurse was rather offended than pleased at the Prince 
stating thus broadly an opinion that his daughter had 
been slighted. 

“ I know no right of chivalry,” he said, “ more 
precious or inalienable than that of each free knight 
to choose his lady-love by his own judgment. My 
daughter courts distinction from no one ; and in her 
own character, and in her own sphere, will never fail 
to receive the full proportion of that which is her due.” 

Prince John replied not; but, spurring his horse, 
as if to give vent to his vexation, he made the animal 
bound forward to the gallery where Rowena was seated, 
with the crown still at her feet. 


112 


IVANHOE 


“ Assume,” he said, “ fair lady, the mark of your 
sovereignty, to which none vows homage more sincerely 
than ourself, John of Anjou; and if it please you 
to-day, with your noble sire and friends, to grace our 
banquet in the Castle of Ashby, we shall learn to know 
the empress to whose service we devote to-morrow.” 

Rowena remained silent, and Cedric answered for 
her in his native Saxon. 

“ The Lady Rowena,” he said, “ possesses not the 
language in which to reply to your courtesy, or to 
sustain her part in your festival. I also, and the noble 
Athelstane of Coningsburgh, speak only the language, 
and practise only the manners, of our fathers. We 
therefore decline with thanks your Highness’s courte- 
ous invitation to the banquet. To-morrow, the I.ady 
Rowena will take upon her the state to which she has 
been called by the free election of the victor Knight, 
confirmed by the acclamations of the people.” 

So saying, he lifted the coronet and placed it upon 
Rowena’s head, in token of her acceptance of the tem- 
porary authority assigned to her. 

“What says he.^” said Prince John, affecting not to 
understand the Saxon language, in which, however, he 
was well skilled. The purport of Cedric’s speech was 
repeated to him in French. “ It is well,” he said; “to- 
morrow we will ourself conduct this mute sovereign to 
her seat of dignity. You, at least. Sir Knight,” he 
added, turning to the victor, who had remained near 
the gallery, “will this day share our banquet.?” 

The Knight, speaking for the first time, in a low and 
hurried voice, excused himself b}" pleading fatigue, and 
the necessity of preparing for to-morrow’s encounter. 

“ It is well,” said Prince John, haughtily ; “ although 
unused to such refusals, we will endeavour to digest our 
banquet as we may, though ungraced by the most suc- 
cessful in arms and his elected Queen of Beauty.” 

So saying, he prepared to leave the lists with his 


IVANHOE 


113 


glittering train, and his turning his steed for that pur- 
pose was the signal for the breaking up and dispersion 
of the spectators. 

Yet, with the vindictive memory proper to offended 
pride, especially when combined with conscious want of 
desert, John had hardly proceeded three paces ere 
again, turning around, he fixed an eye of stern resent- 
ment upon the yeoman who had displeased him in the 
early part of the day, and issued his commands to the 
men-at-arms who stood near — “ On your life, suffer not 
that fellow to escape.” 

The yeoman stood the angry glance of the Prince 
with the same unvaried steadiness which had marked 
his former deportment, saying, with a smile, “ I have no 
intention to leave Ashby until the day after to-morrow. 
I must see how Staffordshire and Leicestershire can 
draw their bows ; the forests of Needwood and Charn- 
wood must rear good archers.” 

“I,” said Prince John to his attendants, but not in 
direct reply — “I will see how he can draw his own ; 
and woe betide him unless his skill should prove some 
apology for his insolence ! ” 

“ It is full time,” said De Bracy, “ that the outre- 
cuidance of these peasants should be restrained by some 
striking example.” 

Waldemar Fitzurse, who probably thought his pa- 
tron was not taking the readiest road to popularity, 
shrugged up his shoulders and was silent. Prince John 
resumed his retreat from the lists, and the dispersion 
of the multitude became general. 

In various routes, according to the different quarters 
from which they came, and in groups of various num- 
bers, the spectators were seen retiring over the plain. 
By far the most numerous part streamed towards the 
town of Ashby, where many of the distinguished persons 
w^ere lodged in the castle, and where others found ac- 
commodation in the town itself. Among these were 

8 


114 


IVANHOE 


most of the knights who had already appeared in the 
tournament, or who proposed to fight there the ensuing 
day, and who, as they rode slowly along, talking over 
the events of the day, were greeted with loud shouts by 
the populace. The same acclamations were bestowed 
upon Prince John, although he was indebted for them 
rather to the splendour of his appearance and train 
than to the popularity of his character. 

A more sincere and more general, as well as a better- 
merited acclamation, attended the victor of the day, 
until, anxious to withdraw himself from popular notice, 
he accepted the accommodation of one of those pavilions 
pitched at the extremities of the lists, the use of which 
was courteously tendered him by the marshals of the 
field. On his retiring to his tent, many who had lin- 
gered in the lists, to look upon and form conjectures 
concerning him, also dispersed. 

The signs and sounds of a tumultuous concourse of 
men lately crowded together in one place, and agitated 
by the same passing events, were now exchanged for the 
distant hum of voices of different groups retreating in 
all directions, and these speedily died away in silence. 
No other sounds were heard save the voices of the 
menials who stripped the galleries of their cushions and 
tapestry, in order to put them in safety for the night, 
and wrangled among themselves for the half-used 
bottles of wine and relics of the refreshment which had 
been served round to the spectators. 

Beyond the precincts of the lists more than one forge 
was erected ; and these now began to glimmer through 
the twilight, announcing the toil of the armourers, which 
was to continue through the whole night, in order to 
repair or alter the suits of armour to be used again on 
the morrow. 

A strong guard of men-at-arms, renewed at intervals, 
from two hours to two hours, surrounded the lists, and 
kept watch during the night. 


IVANHOE 


115 



CHAPTER X 

Thus, like the sad presaging raven, that tolls 
The sick man’s passport in her hollow beak. 

And in the shadow of the silent night 
Doth shake contagion from her sable wings; 

Vex ’d and tormented, runs poor Barabbas, 

With fatal curses towards these Christians. 

Jew of Malta, 

T he Disinherited Knight had no sooner reached 
his pavilion than squires and pages in abun- 
dance tendered their services to disarm him, to 
bring fresh attire, and to offer him the refreshment of 
the bath. Their zeal on this occasion was perhaps, 
sharpened by curiosity, since every one desired to know 
who the knight was that had gained so many laurels, 
yet had refused, even at the command of Prince John, 
to lift his visor or to name his name. But their officious 
inquisitiveness was not gratified. The Disinherited 
Knight refused all other assistance save that of his own 
squire, or rather yeoman — a clownish-looking man, 
who, wrapt in a cloak of dark-coloured felt, and having 
his head and face half-buried in a Norman bonnet made 
of black fur, seemed to affect the incognito as much as 
his master. All others being excluded from the tent, 
this attendant relieved his master from the more bur- 
densome parts of his armour, and placed food and wine 
before him, which the exertions of the day rendered 
very acceptable. 

The Knight had scarcely finished a hasty meal ere 
his menial announced to him that five men, each bear- 
ing a barbed steed, desired to speak with him. The 
Disinherited Knight had exchanged his armour for the 
long robe usually worn by those of his condition, which, 
being furnished with a hood, concealed the features, 
when such Avas the pleasure of the wearer, almost as 


116 


IVANHOE 


completely as the visor of the helmet itself ; but the 
twilight, which was now fast darkening, would of itself 
have rendered a disguise unnecessary, unless to persons 
to whom the face of an individual chanced to be par- 
ticularly well known. 

The Disinherited Knight, therefore, stept boldly forth 
to the front of his tent, and found in attendance the 
squires of the challengers, whom he easily knew by their 
russet and black dresses, each of whom led his master’s 
charger, loaded with the armour in which he had that 
day fought. 

“According to the laws of chivalry,” said the fore- 
most of these men, “ I, Baldwin de Oyley, squire to the 
redoubted Knight Brian de Bois-Guilbeii:, make offer 
to you, styling yourself for the present the Disinherited 
Knight, of the horse and armour used by the said Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert in this day’s passage of arms, leaving 
it with your nobleness to retain or to ransom the same, ac- 
cording to your pleasure ; for such is the law of arms.” 

The other squires repeated nearly the same formula, 
and then stood to await the decision of the Disinherited 
Knight. 

“ To you four, sirs,” replied the Knight, addressing 
those who had last spoken, “ and to your honourable 
and valiant masters, I have one common reply. Com- 
mend me to the noble knights, your masters, and say, 
I should do ill to deprive them of steeds and arms which 
can never be used by braver cavaliers. I would I could 
here end my message to these gallant knights ; but 
being, as I term myself, in truth and earnest the Dis- 
inherited, I must be thus far bound to your masters, 
that they wdll, of their courtesy, be pleased to ransom 
their steeds and annour, since that which I wear I can 
hardly term mine own.” 

“We stand commissioned, each of us,” answered the 
squire of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, “to offer a hundred 
zecchins in ransom of these horses and suits of armour.” 


IVANHOE 


117 


“ It is sufficient,” said the Disinherited Knight. 
“ Half the sum my present necessities compel me to 
accept ; of the remaining half, distribute one moiety 
among yourselves, sir squires, and divide the other half 
betwixt the heralds and the pursuivants, and minstrels, 
and attendants.” 

The squires, with cap in hand, and low reverences, 
expressed their deep sense of a courtesy and generosity 
not often practised, at least upon a scale so extensive. 
The Disinherited Knight then addressed his discourse 
to Baldwin, the squire of Brian de Bois-Guilbert. 
“From your master,” said he, “I will accept neither 
arms nor ransom. Say to him in my name, that our 
strife is not ended — no, not till we have fought as well 
with swords as with lances, as well on foot as on horse- 
back. To this mortal quarrel he has himself defied me, 
and I shall not forget the challenge. Meantime, let 
him be assured that I hold him not as one of his com- 
panions, with whom I can with pleasure exchange cour- 
tesies ; but rather as one with whom I stand upon terms 
of mortal defiance.” 

“ My master,” answered Baldwin, “ knows how to 
requite scorn with scorn, and blows with blows, as well 
as courtesy with courtesy. Since you disdain to accept 
from him any share of the ransom at which you have 
rated the arms of the other knights, I must leave his 
armour and his horse here, being well assured that 
he will never deign to mount the one or wear the 
other.” 

“You have spoken well, good squire,” said the Dis- 
inherited Knight — “well and boldly, as it beseemeth 
him to speak who answers for an absent master. Leave 
not, however, the horse and armour here. Restore them 
to thy master; or, if he scorns to accept them, retain 
them, good friend, for thine own use. So far as they 
are mine, I bestow them upon you freely.” 

Baldwin made a deep obeisance, and retired with his 


118 IVANHOE 

companions ; and the Disinherited Knight entered the 
pavilion. 

“ Thus far, Gurth,” said he, addressing his attendant, 
“the reputation of English chivalry hath not suffered 
in my hands.” 

“ And I,” said Gurth, “ for a Saxon swineherd, have 
not ill played the personage of a Norman squire-at- 
arms.” 

“ Yea, but,” answered the Disinherited Knight, “ thou 
hast ever kept me in anxiety lest thy clownish bearing 
should discover thee.” 

“ Tush ! ” said Gurth, “ I fear discovery from none, 
saving my playfellow, Wamba the Jester, of whom I 
could never discover whether he were most knave or fool. 
Yet I could scarce choose but laugh, when my old master 
passed so near to me, dreaming all the while that Gurth 
was keeping his porkers many a mile off, in the thickets 
and swamps of Rotherwood. If I am discovered — ” 

“ Enough,” said the Disinherited Knight, “ thou 
knowest my promise.” 

“Nay, for that matter,” said Gurth, “I will never 
fail my friend for fear of my skin-cutting. I have a 
tough hide, that will bear knife or scourge as well as 
any boar’s hide in my herd.” 

“ Trust me, I will requite the risk you run for my 
love, Gurth,” said the Knight. “Meanwhile, I pray 
you to accept these ten pieces of gold.” 

“I am richer,” said Gurth, putting them into his 
pouch, “than ever was swineherd or bondsman.” 

“ Take this bag of gold to Ashby,” continued his 
master, “and find out Isaac the Jew of York, and let 
him pay himself for the horse and arms with which his 
credit supplied me.” 

“Nay, by St. Dunstan,” replied Gurth, “that I will 
not do.” 

“How, knave,” replied his master, “wilt thou not 
obey my commands ? ” 


IVANHOE 


119 


“ So they be honest, reasonable, and Christian com- 
mands,” replied Gurth ; “ but this is none of these. 
To suffer the Jew to pay himself would be dishonest, 
for it would be cheating my master ; and unreasonable, 
for it were the part of a fool; and unchristian, since 
it would be plundering a believer to enrich an infidel.” 

“ See him contented, however, thou stubborn varlet,” 
said the Disinherited Knight. 

“ I will do so,” said Gurth, taking the bag under his 
cloak and leaving the apartment ; “ and it will go hard,” 
he muttered, “ but I content him with one-half of his 
own asking.” So saying, he departed, and left the 
Disinherited Knight to his own perplexed ruminations, 
which, upon more accounts than it is now possible to 
communicate to the reader, were of a nature pecuharly 
agitating and painful. ^ 

We must now change the scene to the village of 
Ashby, or rather to a country house in its vicinity be- 
longing to a wealthy Israelite, with whom Isaac, his 
daughter, and retinue had taken up their quarters ; the 
Jews, it is well known, being as liberal in exercising 
the duties of hospitality and charity among their own 
people as they were alleged to be reluctant and churl- 
ish in extending them to those whom they termed Gen- 
tiles, and whose treatment of them certainly merited 
little hospitality at their hand. 

In an apartment, small indeed, but richly furnished 
with decorations of an Oriental taste, Rebecca was 
seated on a heap of embroidered cushions, which, piled 
along a low platform that surrounded the chamber, 
served, like the estrada of the Spaniards, instead of 
chairs and stools. She was watching the motions of 
her father with a look of anxious and filial affection, 
while he paced the apartment with a dejected mien and 
disordered step, sometimes clasping his hands together, 
sometimes casting his eyes to the roof of the apartment. 


120 


IVANHOE 


as one who laboured under great mental tribulation. 
“O, Jacob!” he exclaimed — “O, all ye twelve Holy 
Fathers of our tribe ! what a losing venture is this for 
one who hath duly kept every jot and tittle of the law 
of Moses I Fifty zecchins wrenched from me at one 
clutch, and by the talons of a tyrant 1 ” 

‘‘ But, father,” said Rebecca, “ you seemed to give 
the gold to Prince John willingly.” 

“ Willingly 1 the blotch of Egypt upon him I Will- 
ingly, saidst thou.^ Ay, as willingly as when, in the 
Gulf of Lyons, I flung over my merchandise to lighten 
the ship, while she laboured in the tempest — robed the 
seething billows in my choice silks — perfumed their 
briny foam with myrrh and aloes — enriched their cav- 
erns with gold and silver w'ork ! And was not that an 
hour of unutterable misery, though my own hands made 
the sacrifice.'^ ” 

“ But it was a sacrifice which Heaven exacted to save 
our lives,” answered Rebecca, “ and the God of our 
fathers has since blessed your store and your gettings.” 

“Ay,” answered Isaac, “but if the tyrant lays hold 
on them as he did to-day, and compels me tO' smile while 
he is robbing me.? O, daughter, disinherited and wan- 
dering as we are, the worst evil which befalls our race 
is, that when we are wronged and plundered all the 
world laughs around, and we are compelled to suppress 
our sense of injury, and to smile tamely when we would 
revenge bravely.” 

“ Think not thus of it, my father,” said Rebecca ; 
“ we also have advantages. These Gentiles, cruel and 
oppressive as they are, are in some sort dependent on 
the dispersed children of Zion, whom they despise and 
persecute. Without the aid of our wealth they could 
neither furnish forth their hosts in war nor their tri- 
umphs in peace; and the gold which we lend them re- 
turns with increase to our coffers. We are like the herb 
which flourisheth most when it is most trampled on. 


IVANHOE 


121 


Even this day’s pageant had not proceeded without 
the consent of the despised Jew, who furnished the 
means.” 

“ Daughter,” said Isaac, “ thou hast harped upon 
another string of sorrow. The goodly steed and the 
rich armour, equal to the full profit of my adventure 
with our Kir j ath J airam of Leicester — there is a dead 
loss too — ay, a loss which swallows up the gains of a 
week — ay, of the space between two Sabbaths — and 
yet it may end better than I now think, for ’t is a good 
youth.” 

“Assuredly,” said Rebecca, “you shall not repent 
you of requiting the good deed received of the stranger 
knight.” 

“ I trust so, daughter,” said Isaac, “ and I trust too 
in the rebuilding of Zion ; but as well do I hope with 
my own bodily eyes to see the walls and battlements of 
the new Temple, as to see a Christian, yea, the very 
best of Christians, repay a debt to a Jew, unless under 
the awe of the judge and jailer.” 

So saying, he resumed his discontented walk through 
the apartment; and Rebecca, perceiving that her at- 
tempts at consolation only served to awaken new sub- 
jects of complaint, wisely desisted from her unavailing 
efforts — a prudential line of conduct, and we recom- 
mend to all who set up for comforters and advisers to 
follow it in the like circumstances. 

The evening was now becoming dark, when a Jewish 
servant entered the apartment and placed upon the 
table two silver lamps, fed with perfumed oil ; the rich- 
est wines and the most delicate refreshments were at the 
same time displayed by another Israelitish domestic on 
a small ebony table, inlaid with silver; for, in the in- 
terior of their houses, the Jews refused themselves no 
expensive indulgences. At the same time the servant 
informed Isaac that a Nazarene (so they termed Chris- 
tians while conversing among themselves) desired to 


122 


IVANHOE 


speak with him. He that would live by traffic must hold 
himself at the disposal of every one claiming business 
with him. Isaac at once replaced on the table the un- 
tasted glass of Greek wine which he had just raised to 
his lips, and saying hastily to his daughter, “ Rebecca, 
veil thyself,” commanded the stranger to be admitted. 

Just as Rebecca had dropped over her fine features 
a screen of silver gauze which reached to her feet, the 
door opened, and Gurth entered, wrapt in the ample 
folds of his Norman mantle. His appearance was 
rather suspicious than prepossessing, especially as, in- 
stead of doffing his bonnet, he pulled it still deeper over 
his rugged brow. 

“Art thou Isaac the Jew of York.^^” said Gurth, in 
Saxon. 

“ I am,” replied Isaac, in the same language, for his 
traffic had rendered every tongue spoken in Britain 
familiar to him, “and who art thou.^^” 

“ That is not to the purpose,” answered Gurth. 

“As much as my name is to thee,” replied Isaac; 
“ for without knowing thine, how can I hold intercourse 
with thee ? ” 

“ Easily,” answered Gurth ; “ I, being to pay money, 
must know that I deliver it to the right person ; thou, 
who art to receive it, wilt not, I think, care very greatly 
by whose hands it is delivered.” 

“O,” said the Jew, “you are come to pay moneys 
Holy Father Abraham! that altereth our relation to 
each other. And from whom dost thou bring it.?” 

“ F rom the Disinherited Knight,” said Gurth, “ vic- 
tor in this day’s tournament. It is the price of the 
armour supplied to him by Kirjath Jairam of Leices- 
ter, on thy recommendation. The steed is restored to 
thy stable. I desire to know the amount of the sum 
which I am to pay for the armour.” 

“ I said he was a good youth ! ” exclaimed Isaac, with 
joyful exultation. “A cup of wine will do thee no 


IVANHOE 


123 


harm,” he added, filling and handing to the swineherd 
a richer draught than Gurth had ever before tasted. 
“And how much money,” continued Isaac, “hast thou 
brought with thee.?^” 

“ Holy Virgin ! ” said Gurth, setting down the cup, 
“what nectar these unbelieving dogs drink, while true 
Christians are fain to quaff ale as muddy and thick as 
the draff we give to hogs ! What money have I brought 
with me.f^” continued the Saxon, when he had finished 
this uncivil ejaculation, “even but a small sum; some- 
thing in hand the whilst. What, Isaac ! thou must bear 
a conscience, though it be a Jewish one.” 

“ Nay, but,” said Isaac, “ thy master has won goodly 
steeds and rich armours with the strength of his lance 
and of his right hand — but ’tis a good youth; the 
Jew will take these in present payment, and render him 
back the surplus.” 

“ My master has disposed of them already,” said 
Gurth. 

“Ah! that was wrong,” said the Jew — “that was 
the part of a fool. No Christians here could buy so 
many horses and armour ; no Jew except myself would 
give him half the values. But thou hast a hundred 
zecchins with thee in that bag,” said Isaac, prying 
under Gurth’s cloak, “it is a heavy one.” 

“ I have heads for cross-bow bolts in it,” said Gurth, 
readily. 

“Well, then,” said Isaac, panting and hesitating 
between habitual love of gain and a new-born desire to 
be liberal in the present instance, “ if I should say that 
I would take eighty zecchins for the good steed and rich 
armour, which leaves me not a guilder’s profit, have 
you money to pay me ? ” 

“Barely,” said Gurth, though the sum demanded 
was more reasonable than he expected, “ and it will 
leave my master nigh penniless. Nevertheless, if such 
be your least offer, I must be content.” 


124 


IVANHOE 


“Fill thyself another goblet of wine,” said the Jew. 
“Ah! eighty zecchins is too little. It leaveth no profit 
for the usages of the moneys ; and, besides, the good 
horse may have suffered wrong in this day’s encounter. 
O, it was a hard and a dangerous meeting! man and 
steed rushing on each other hke wild bulls of Bashan ! 
the horse cannot but have had wrong.” 

“ And I say,” replied Gurth, “ he is sound, wind and 
limb ; and you may see him now in your stable. And 
I say, over and above, that seventy zecchins is enough 
for the armour, and I hope a Christian’s word is as 
good as a Jew’s. If you wiU not take seventy, I will 
carry this bag (and he shook it till the contents jingled) 
back to my master.” 

“Nay, nay!” said Isaac; “lay down the talents — 
the shekels — the eighty zecchins, and thou shalt see 
I will consider thee liberally.” 

Gurth at length complied; and telling out eighty 
zeccliins upon the table, the Jew delivered out to him 
an acquittance for the horse and suit of armour. The 
Jew’s hand trembled for joy as he wrapped up the first 
seventy pieces of gold. The last ten he told over with 
much dehberation, pausing, and saying something as 
he took each piece from the table and dropped it into 
his purse. It seemed as if his avarice were struggling 
with his better nature, and compelling him to pouch 
zecchin after zecchin, while his generosity urged him 
to restore some part at least to his benefactor, or as a 
donation to his agent. His whole speech ran nearly 
thus : — 

“Seventy-one, seventy-two — thy master is a good 
youth — seventy-three — an excellent youth — seventy- 
four — that piece hath been clipped within the ring — 
seventy-five — and that looketh light of weight — sev- 
enty-six — when thy master wants money, let him come 
to Isaac of York — seventy-seven — that is, with rea- 
sonable security.” Here he made a considerable pause. 


IVANHOE 


125 


and Gurth had good hope that the last three pieces 
might escape the fate of their comrades ; but the enu- 
meration proceeded — “ Seventy-eight — thou art a 
good fellow — seventy -nine — and deservest something 
for thyself — ” 

Here the Jew paused again, and looked at the last 
zecchin, intending, doubtless, to bestow it upon Gurth. 
He weighed it upon the tip of liis finger, and made it 
ring by dropping it upon the table. Had it rung too 
flat, or had it felt a hair’s breadth too light, generosity 
had carried the day ; but, unhappily for Gurth, the 
chime was full and true, the zecchin plump, newly 
coined, and a grain above weight. Isaac could not find 
in his heart to part with it, so dropt it into his purse 
as if in absence of mind, with the words, “ Eighty com- 
pletes the tale, and I trust thy master will reward thee 
handsomely. Surely,” he added, looking earnestly at 
the bag, “ thou hast more coins in that pouch ? ” 

Gurth grinned, which was his nearest approach to 
a laugh, as he replied, “ About the same quantity which 
thou hast just told over so carefully.” He then folded 
the acquittance, and put it under his cap, adding, 
“Peril of thy beard, Jew, see that this be full and 
ample ! ” He filled himself, unbidden, a third goblet of 
wine, and left the apartment without ceremony. 

“ Rebecca,” said the Jew, “ that Ishmaelite hath gone 
somewhat beyond me. Nevertheless, his master is a 
good youth; ay, and I am well pleased that he hath 
gained shekels of gold and shekels of silver, even by the 
speed of his horse and by the strength of his lance, 
which, like that of Goliath the Philistine, might vie 
with a weaver’s beam.” 

As he turned to receive Rebecca’s answer, he observed 
that during his chaffering with Gurth she had left the 
apartment unperceived. 

In the meanwhile, Gurth had descended the stair, 
and, having reached the dark ante-chamber or hall, was 


126 


IVANHOE 


puzzling about to discover the entrance, when a figure 
in white, shown by a small silver lamp which she held 
in her hand, beckoned him into a side apartment. Gurth 
had some reluctance to obey the summons. Rough and 
impetuous as a wild boar where only earthly force was 
to be apprehended, he had all the characteristic terrors 
of a Saxon respecting fauns, forest fiends, white women, 
and the whole of the superstitions which his ancestors 
' had brought with them from the wilds of Germany. 
He remembered, moreover, that he was in the house of 
a Jew, a people who, besides the other unamiable qual- 
ities which popular report ascribed to them, were 
supposed to be profound necromancers and cabalists. 
Nevertheless, after a moment’s pause, he obeyed the 
beckoning summons of the apparition, and followed her 
into the apartment which she indicated, where he found, 
to his joyful surprise, that his fair guide was the beau- 
tiful Jewess whom he had seen at the tournament, and 
a short time in her father’s apartment. 

She asked him the particulars of his transaction with 
Isaac, which he detailed accurately. 

“My father did but jest with thee, good fellow,” 
said Rebecca ; “ he owes thy master deeper kindness 
than these arms and steeds could pay, were their value 
tenfold. What sum didst thou pay my father even 
now? ” 

“ Eighty zecchins,” said Gurth, surprised at the 
question. 

“ In this purse,” said Rebecca, “ thou wilt find a hun- 
dred. Restore to thy master that which is his due, and 
enrich thyself with the remainder. Haste — begone — 
stay not to render thanks ! and beware how you pass 
through this crowded town, where thou mayst easily lose 
both thy burden and thy life. Reuben,” she added, 
♦ clapping her hands together, “light forth this stran- 
ger, and fail not to draw lock and bar behind him.” 

Reuben, a dark-browed and black-bearded Israelite, 


IVANHOE 


127 


obeyed her summons, with a torch in his hand; undid 
the outward door of the house, and conducting Gurth 
across a paved court, let him out through a wicket in 
the entrance-gate, which he closed behind him with such 
bolts and chains as would well have become that of a 
prison. 

“ By St. Dunstan,” said Gurth, as he stumbled up the 
dark avenue, “this is no Jewess, but an angel from 
heaven! Ten zecchins from my brave young master — 
twenty from this pearl of Zion ! Oh, happy day ! Such 
another, Gurth, will redeem thy bondage, and make thee 
a brother as free of thy guild as the best. And then 
do I lay down my swineherd’s horn and staff, and take 
the freeman’s sword and buckler, and follow my young 
master to the death, without liiding either my face or 
my name.” 



CHAPTER XI 


Isi Outlaw. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about you; 
If not, we’ll make you sit, and rifle you. 

Speed. Sir, we are undone! these are the villains 
That all the travellers do fear so much. 

Val. My friends — 

Out. That ’s not so, sir, we are your enemies. 

2d Out. Peace ! we ’ll hear him. 

3d Out. Ay, by my beard, will we; 

For he ’s a proper man. 

rit lx 


Two Gentlemen of Verona. 


T he nocturnal adventures of Gurth were not yet 
concluded; indeed, he himself became partly of 
that mind when, after passing one or two strag- 
gling houses which stood in the outskirts of the village, 
he found himself in a deep lane, running between two 
banks overgrown with hazel and holly, while here and 
there a dwarf oak flung its arms altogether across the 
path. The lane was, moreover, much rutted and broken 


128 


IVANHOE 


up by the carriages which had recently transported 
articles of various kinds to the tournament ; and it was 
dark, for the banks and bushes intercepted the light of 
the harvest moon. 

From the village were heard the distant sounds of 
revelry, mixed occasionally with loud laughter, some- 
times broken by screams, and sometimes by wild strains 
of distant music. All these sounds, intimating the dis- 
orderly state of the town, crowded with military nobles 
and their dissolute attendants, gave Gurth some un- 
easiness. “ The Jewess was right,” he said to himself. 
“By heaven and St. Dunstan, I would I were safe at 
my journey’s end with all this treasure! Here are 
such numbers, I will not say of arrant thieves, but of 
errant knights and errant squires, errant monks and 
errant minstrels, errant jugglers and errant jesters, 
that a man with a single merk would be in danger, much 
more a poor swineherd with a whole bagful of zecchins. 
Would I were out of the shade of these infernal bushes, 
that I might at least see any of St. Nicholas’s clerks 
before they spring on my shoulders 1 ” 

Gurth accordingly hastened his pace, in order to 
gain the open common to which the lane led, but was 
not so fortunate as to accomplish his object. Just as 
he had attained the upper end of the lane, where the 
underwood was thickest, four men sprung upon him, 
even as his fears anticipated, two from each side of the 
road, and seized him so fast that resistance, if at first 
practicable, would have been now too late. “ Surrender 
your charge,” said one of them ; “ we are the deliverers 
of the commonwealth, who ease every man of his 
burden.” 

“You should not ease me of mine so lightly,” mut- 
tered Gurth, whose surly honesty could not be tamed 
even by the pressure of immediate violence, “ had I 
it but in my power to give three strokes in its defence.” 

“We shall see that presently,” said the robber; and. 


IVANHOE 


129 


speaking to his companions, he added, “bring along 
the knave. I see he would have his head broken as well 
as his purse cut, and so be let blood in two veins at 
once.” 

Gurth was hurried along agreeably to this mandate, 
and having been dragged somewhat roughly over the 
bank on the left-hand side of the lane, found himself 
in a straggling thicket, which lay betwixt it and the 
open common. He was compelled to follow his rough 
conductors into the very depth of this cover, where they 
stopt unexpectedly in an irregular open space, free in 
a great measure from trees, and on which, therefore, 
the beams of the moon fell without much interruption 
from boughs and leaves. Here his captors were joined 
by two other persons, apparently belonging to the 
gang. They had short swords by their sides, and 
quarter-staves in their hands, and Gurth could now 
observe that all six wore visors, which rendered their 
occupation a matter of no question, even had their for- 
mer proceedings left it in doubt. 

“What money hast thou, churl said one of the 
thieves. 

“Thirty zecchins of my own property,” answered 
Gurth, doggedly. 

“ A forfeit — a forfeit,” shouted the robbers ; “ a 
Saxon hath thirty zecchins, and returns sober from a 
village ! An undeniable and unredeemable forfeit of all 
he hath about him.” 

“ I hoarded it to purchase my freedom,” said Gurth. 

“ Thou art an ass,” replied one of the thieves ; 
“three quarts of double ale had rendered thee as free 
as thy master, ay, and freer too, if he be a Saxon like 
thyself.” 

“A sad truth,” replied Gurth; “but if these same 
thirty zecchins will buy my freedom from you, unloose 
my hands and I will pay them to you.” 

“Hold,” said one who seemed to exercise some au- 
9 


130 


IVANHOE 


thority over the others ; “ this bag which thou bearest, 
as I can feel through thy cloak, contains more coin 
than thou hast told us of.” 

“ It is the good knight my master’s,” answered 
Giirth, “ of which, assuredly, I would not have spoken 
a word, had you been satisfied with working your will 
upon mine own property.” 

. “ Thou art an honest fellow,” replied the robber, “ I 
warrant thee; and w’e worship not St. Nicholas so de- 
voutly but what thy thirty zecchins may yet escape, if 
thou deal uprightly with us. Meantime, render up thy 
trust for the time.” So saying, he took from Gurth’s 
breast the large leathern pouch, in which the purse 
given him by Rebecca was enclosed, as well as the rest 
of the zecchins, and then continued his interrogation 
— “Who is thy master 

“The Disinherited Knight,” said Gurth. 

“Whose good lance,” replied the robber, “won the 
prize in to-day’s tourney What is his name and 
lineage ? ” 

“ It is his pleasure,” answered Gurth, “ that they be 
concealed ; and from me, assuredly, you will learn 
nought of them.” 

“What is thine own name and lineage.?” 

“ To tell that,” said Gurth, “ might reveal my 
master’s.” 

“Thou art a saucy groom,” said the robber; “but 
of that anon. How comes thy master by this gold.? 
is it of his inheritance, or by what means hath it accrued 
to him.?” 

“ By his good lance,” answered Gurth. “ These bags 
contain the ransom of four good horses and four good 
suits of armour.” 

“ How much is there .? ” demanded the robber. 

“Two hundred zecchins.” 

“ Only two hundred zecchins ! ” said the bandit ; 
“your master hath dealt liberally by the vanquished. 


IVANHOE 131 

and put them to a cheap ransom. Name those who paid 
the gold.” 

Gurth did so. 

“ The armour and horse of the Templar Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert — at what ransom were they held.? Thou 
seest thou canst not deceive me.” 

“ My master,” replied Gurth, “ will take nought from 
the Templar save his life’s-blood. They are on terms 
of mortal defiance, and cannot hold courteous inter- 
course together.” 

“ Indeed ! ” repeated the robber, and paused after 
he had said the word. ‘‘And what wert thou now 
doing at Ashby with such a charge in thy custody .? ” 

“ I went thither to render to Isaac the Jew of York,” 
replied Gurth, “ the price of a suit of armour with which 
he fitted my master for this tournament.” 

“ And how much didst thou pay to Isaac.? Methinks, 
to judge by weight, there is still two hundred zecchins 
in that pouch.” 

“ I paid to Isaac,” said the Saxon, “ eighty zecchins, 
and he restored me a hundred in lieu thereof.” 

“ How ! what ! ” exclaimed all the robbers at once ; 
“darest thou trifle with us, that thou tellest such im- 
probable lies .? ” 

“What I tell you,” said Gurth, “is as true as the 
moon is in heaven. You will find the just sum in a 
silken purse within the leathern pouch, and separate 
from the rest of the gold.” 

“ Bethink thee, man,” said the Captain, “ thou 
speakest of a Jew — of an Israelite, as unapt to restore 
gold as the dry sand of liis deserts to return the cup of 
water which the pilgrim spills upon them.” 

“ There is no more mercy in them,” said another of 
the banditti, “ than in an unbribed sheriff’s officer.” 

“ It is, however, as I say,” said Gurth. 

“ Strike a light instantl}^” said the Captain ; “ I 
will examine this said purse ; and if it be as this fellow 


132 


IVANHOE 


says, the Jew’s bounty is little less miraculous than the 
stream which relieved his fathers in the wilderness.” 

A light was procured accordingly, and the robber 
proceeded to examine the purse. The others crowded 
around him, and even two who had hold of Gurth re- 
laxed their grasp while they stretched their necks to 
see the issue of the search. Availing himself of their 
negligence, by a sudden exertion of strength and activ- 
ity Gurth shook himself free of their hold, and might 
have escaped, could he have resolved to leave his mas- 
ter’s property behind him. But such was no part of 
his intention. He wrenched a quarter-staff from one 
of the fellows, struck down the Captain, who was alto- 
gether unaware of his purpose, and had wellnigh re- 
possessed himself of the pouch and treasure. The 
thieves, however, were too nimble for him, and again 
secured both the bag and the trusty Gurth. 

‘‘ Knave ! ” said the Captain, getting up, “ thou hast 
broken my head, and with other men of our sort thou 
wouldst fare the worse for thy insolence. But thou 
shalt know thy fate instantly. First let us speak of thy 
master ; the knight’s matters must go before the squire’s, 
according to the due order of chivalry. Stand thou fast 
in the meantime ; if thou stir again, thou shalt have 
that will make thee quiet for thy life. Comrades ! ” he 
then said, addressing his gang, “this purse is em- 
broidered with Hebrew characters, and I well believe 
the yeoman’s tale is true. The errant knight, his mas- 
ter, must needs pass us toll-free. He is too like our- 
selves for us to make booty of him, since dogs should 
not worry dogs where wolves and foxes are to be found 
in abundance.” 

“ Like us ! ” answered one of the gang ; “ I should 
like to hear how that is made good.” 

“ Why, thou fool,” answered the Captain, “ is he not 
poor and disinherited as we are.? Doth he not win his 
substance at the sword’s point as we do ? Hath he not 


IVANHOE 


133 


beaten Front-de-Boeuf and Malvoisin, even as we would 
beat them if we could? Is he not the enemy to life and 
death of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whom we have so much 
reason to fear? And were all this otherwise, wouldst 
thou have us show a worse conscience than an unbeliever, 
a Hebrew Jew? ” 

“ Nay, that were a shame,” muttered the other fellow ; 
“ and yet, when I served in the band of stout old Gan- 
delyn, we had no such scruples of conscience. And this 
insolent peasant — he too, I warrant me, is to be dis- 
missed scatheless ? ” 

“Not if thou canst scathe him,” replied the Cap- 
tain. “ Here, fellow,” continued he, addressing Gurth, 
“ canst thou use the staff, that thou startst to it so 
readily ? ” 

“ I think,” said Gurth, “ thou shouldst be best able to 
reply to that question.” 

“ Nay, by my troth, thou gavest me a round knock,” 
replied the Captain ; “ do as much for this fellow, and 
thou shalt pass scot-free; and if thou dost not — why, 
by my faith, as thou art such a sturdy knave, I think 
I must pay thy ransom myself. Take thy staff. Miller,” 
he added, “ and keep thy head ; and do you others let 
the fellow go, and give him a staff — there is light 
enough to lay on load by.” 

The two champions, being alike armed with quarter- 
staves, stepped forward into the centre of the open 
space, in order to have the full benefit of the moonlight ; 
the thieves in the meantime laughing, and crying to 
their comrade, “ Miller ! beware thy toll-dish.” The 
Miller, on the other hand, holding his quarter-staff by 
the middle, and making it flourish round his head after 
the fashion which the French call faire le mouUnet, 
exclaimed boastfully, “ Come on, churl, an thou darest : 
thou shalt feel the strength of a miller’s thumb ! ” 

“ If thou be’st a miller,” answered Gurth, un- 
dauntedly, making his weapon play around his head 


134 


IVANHOE 


with equal dexterity, “thou art doubly a thief, and I, 
as a true man, bid thee defiance.” 

So saying, the two champions closed together, and 
for a few minutes they displayed great equality in 
strength, courage, and skill, intercepting and return- 
ing the blows of their adversary with^the most rapid 
dexterity, while, from the continued clatter of their 
weapons; a person at a distance might have supposed 
that there were at least six persons engaged on each 
side. Less obstinate, and even less dangerous, combats 
have been described in good heroic verse; but that of 
Gurth and the Miller must remain unsung, for want of 
a sacred poet to do justice to its eventful progress. 
Yet, though quarter-staff play be out of date, what we 
can in prose we will do for these bold champions. 

Long they fought equally, until the Miller began to 
lose temper at finding himself so stoutly opposed, and 
at hearing the laughter of his companions, who, as usual 
in such cases, enjoyed his vexation. This was not a 
state of mind favourable to the noble game of quarter- 
staff, in which, as in ordinary cudgel-playing, the ut- 
most coolness is requisite; and it gave Gurth, whose 
temper was steady, though surly, the opportunity of 
acquiring a decided advantage, in availing himself of 
which he displayed great mastery. 

The Miller pressed furiously forward, dealing blows 
with either end of his weapon alternately, and striving 
to come to half-staff distance, while Gurth defended 
himself against the attack, keeping his hands about a 
yard asunder, and covering himself by shifting his 
weapon with great celerity, so as to protect his head 
and body. Thus did he maintain the defensive, making 
his eye, foot, and hand keep true time, until, observing 
his antagonist to lose wind, he darted the staff at his 
face with his left hand ; and, as the Miller endeavoured 
to parry the thrust, he slid his right hand down to his 
left, and with the full swing of the weapon struck his 


IVANHOE 


135 


opponent on the left side of the head, who instantly 
measured his length upon the green sward. 

“Well and yeomanly done!” shouted the robbers; 
“ fair play and Old England for ever ! The Saxon hath 
saved both his purse and his hide, and the Miller has 
met his match.” 

“ Thou mayst go thy ways, my friend,” said the Cap- 
tain, addressing Gurth, in special confirmation of the 
general voice, “ and I will cause two of my comrades 
to guide thee by the best way to thy master’s pavilion, 
and to guard thee from night-walkers that might have 
less tender consciences than ours ; for there is many 
one of them upon the amble in such a night as this. 
Take heed, however,” he added sternly; “remember 
thou hast refused to tell thy name ; ask not after ours, 
nor endeavour to discover who or what we are, for, if 
thou makest such an attempt, thou wilt come by worse 
fortune than has yet befallen thee.” 

Gurth thanked the Captain for his courtesy, and 
promised to attend to his recommendation. Two of the 
outlaws, taking up their quarter-staves, and desiring 
Gurth to follow close in the rear, walked roundly 
forward along a by-path, which traversed the thicket 
and the broken ground adjacent to it. On the very 
verge of the thicket two men spoke to his conductors, 
and receiving an answer in a whisper, withdrew into 
the wood, and suffered them to pass unmolested. This 
circumstance induced Gurth to believe both that the 
gang was strong in numbers, and that they kept regu- 
lar guards around their place of rendezvous. 

When they arrived on the open heath, where Gurth 
might have had some trouble in finding his road, the 
thieves guided him straight forward to the top of a 
little eminence, whence he could see, spread beneath 
him in the moonlight, the palisades of the lists, the glim- 
mcnng pavilions pitched at either end, with the pen- 
nons which adorned them fluttering in the moonbeam. 


136 


IVANHOE 


and from which could be heard the hum of the song 
with which the sentinels were beguiling their night- 
watch. 

Here the thieves stopped. 

‘‘We go with you no farther,” said they; “it were 
not safe that we should do so. Remember the warning 
you have received: keep secret what has this night 
befallen you, and you will have no room to repent it; 
neglect what is now told you, and the Tower of London 
shall not protect you against our revenge.” 

“ Good-night to you, kind sirs,” said Gurth ; “ I 
shall remember your orders, and trust that there is no 
offence in wishing you a safer and an honester trade.” 

Thus they parted, the outlaws returning in the direc- 
tion from whence they had come, and Gurth proceedilig 
to the tent of his master, to whom, notwithstanding 
the injunction he had received, he communicated the 
whole adventures of the evening. 

The Disinherited Knight was filled with astonishment, 
no less at the generosity of Rebecca, by which, however, 
he resolved he would not profit, than that of the rob- 
bers, to whose profession such a quality seemed totally 
foreign. His course of reflections upon these singular 
circumstances was, however, interrupted by the neces- 
sity for taking repose, which the fatigue of the pre- 
ceding day and the propriety of refreshing himself for 
the morrow’s encounter rendered alike, indispensable. 

The knight, therefore, stretched himself for repose 
upon a rich couch with which the tent was provided; 
and the faithful Gurth, extending his hardy limbs upon 
a bear-skin which formed a sort of carpet to the pavil- 
ion, laid himself across the opening of the tent, so that 
no one could enter without awakening him. 


IVANHOE 


137 


CHAPTER XII 


The heralds left their pricking up and down, 
Now ri^en trumpets loud and clarion. 

There is no more to say, but east and west. 

In go the speares sadly in the rest. 

In goth the sharp spur into the side. 

There see men who can just and who can ride; 
There shiver shaftes upon shieldes thick. 

He feeleth through the heart-spone the prick; 
Up springen speares, twenty feet in height. 

Out go the swordes to the silver bright; 

The helms they to-hewn and to-shred; 

Out bm*st the blood with stern streames red. 


Chaucer. 


M orning arose in unclouded splendour, and 
ere the sun was much above the horizon the 
idlest or the most eager of the spectators 
appeared on the common, moving to the lists as to a 
general centre, in order to secure a favourable situa- 
tion for viewing the continuation of the expected 
games. 

The marshals and their attendants appeared next 
on the field, together with the heralds, for the purpose 
of receiving the names of the knights who intended to 
joust, with the side which each chose to espouse. This 
was a necessary precaution, in order to secure equality 
betwixt the two bodies who should be opposed to each 
other. 

According to due formality, the Disinherited Knight 
was to be considered as leader of the one body, while 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who had been rated as having 
done second-best in the preceding day, was named first 
champion of the other band. Those who had concurred 
in the challenge adhered to his party, of course, except- 
ing only Ralph de Vipont, whom his fall had rendered 
unfit so soon to put on his aiTnour. There was no want 


138 IVANHOE 

of distinguished and noble candidates to fill up the 
ranks on either side. 

In fact, although the general tournament, in which 
all knights fought at once, was more dangerous than 
single encounters, they were, nevertheless, more fre- 
quented and practised by the chivalry of the age. 
Many knights, who had not sufficient confidence in their 
own skill to defy a single adversary of high reputation, 
were, nevertheless, desirous of displaying their valour 
in the general combat, where they might meet others 
with whom they were more upon an equality. On the 
present occasion, about fifty knights were inscribed as 
' desirous of combating upon each side, when the marshals 
declared that no more could be admitted, to the dis- 
appointment of several who were too late in preferring 
their claim to be included. 

About the hour of ten o’clock the whole plain 
w^as crowded with horsemen, horsewomen, and foot- 
passengers, hastening to the tournament ; and shortly 
after, a grand flourish of trumpets announced Prince 
John and his retinue, attended by many of those 
knights who' meant to take share in the game, as well 
as others who had no such intention. 

About the same time arrived Cedric the Saxon, with 
the Lady Rowena, unattended, however, by Athelstane. 
This Saxon lord had arrayed his tall and strong person 
in armour, in order to take his place among the com- 
batants ; and, considerably to the surprise of Cedric, 
had chosen to enlist himself on the part of the Knight 
Templar. The Saxon, indeed, had remonstrated 
strongly with his friend upon the injudicious choice he 
had made of his party ; but he had only received that 
sort of answer usually given by those wffio are more 
obstinate in following their own course than strong in 
justifying it. 

His best, if not his onl}^ reason for adhering to the 
party of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Athelstane had the 


IVANHOE 


139 


prudence to keep to himself. Though his apathy of 
disposition prevented his taking any means to recom- 
mend himself to the Lady Rowena, he was, nevertheless, 
by no means insensible to her charms, and consid- 
ered his union with her as a matter already fixed 
beyond doubt by the assent of Cedric and her other 
friends. It had therefore been with smothered displeas- 
ure that the proud though indolent Lord of Conings- 
burgh beheld the victor of the preceding day select 
Rowena as the object of that honour which it became 
his privilege to confer. In order to punish him for 
a preference which seemed to interfere with his own 
suit, Athelstane, confident of his strength, and to 
whom his flatterers, at least, ascribed great skill in 
arms, had determined not only to deprive the Disinher- 
ited Knight of his powerful succour, but, if an oppor- 
tunity should occur, to make him feel the weight of his 
battle-axe. 

De Bracy, and other knights attached to Prince 
John, in obedience to a hint from him, had joined the 
party of the challengers, John being desirous to secure, 
if possible, the victory to that side. On the other hand, 
many other knights, both English and Norman, natives 
and strangers, took part against the challengers, the 
more readily that the opposite band was to be led by 
so distinguished a champion as the Disinherited Knight 
had approved himself. 

As soon as Prince Jolm observed that the destined 
Queen of the day had arrived upon the field, assuming 
that air of courtesy which sat well upon him when he 
was pleased to exhibit it, he rode forward to meet her, 
doffed his bonnet, and, alighting from his horse, assisted 
the Lady Rowena from her saddle, while his followers 
uncovered at the same time, and one of the most dis- 
tinguished dismounted to hold her palfrey. 

“ It is thus,” said Prince John, “ that we set the 
dutiful example of loyalty to the Queen of Love and 


140 


IVANHOE 


Beauty, and are ourselves her guide to the throne which 
she must this day occupy. Ladies,” he said, “ attend 
your Queen, as you wish in your turn to be distin- 
guished by hke honours.” 

So saying, the Prince marshalled Rowena to the 
seat of honour opposite his own, while the fairest and 
most distinguished ladies present crowded after her 
to obtain places as near as possible to their temporary 
sovereign. 

No sooner was Rowena seated than a burst of music, 
half-drowned by the shouts of the multitude, greeted 
her new dignity. Meantime, the sun shown fierce and 
bright upon the polished arms of the knights of either 
side, who crowded the opposite extremities of the lists, 
and held eager conference together concerning the best 
mode of arranging their line of battle and supporting 
the conflict. 

The heralds then proclaimed silence until the laws 
of the tourney should be rehearsed. These were calcu- 
lated in some degree to abate the dangers of the day 
— a precaution the more necessary as the conflict was 
to be maintained with sharp swords and pointed lances. 

The champions were therefore prohibited to thrust 
with the sword, and were confined to striking. A 
knight, it was announced, might use a mace or battle- 
axe at pleasure; but the dagger was a prohibited 
weapon. A knight unhorsed might renew the fight on 
foot with any other on the opposite side in the same 
predicament; but mounted horsemen were in that case 
forbidden to assail him. When any knight could force 
his antagonist to the extremity of the lists, so as to 
touch the palisade with his person or arms, such oppon- 
ent was obliged to yield himself vanquished, and his 
armour and horse were placed at the disposal of the 
conqueror. A knight thus overcome was not permitted 
to take further share in the combat. If any combatant 
was struck down, and unable to recover his feet, his 


IVANHOE 


141 


squire or page might enter the lists and drag his master 
out of the press ; but in that case the knight was ad- 
judged vanquished, and his arms and horse declared 
forfeited. The combat was to cease as soon as Prince 
John should throw down his leading staff, or truncheon 
• — another precaution usually taken to prevent the 
unnecessary effusion of blood by the too long endur- 
ance of a sport so desperate. Any knight breaking the 
rules of the tournament, or otherwise transgressing 
the rules of honourable chivalry, was liable to be stript 
of his arms, and, having his shield reversed, to be placed 
in that posture astride upon the bars of the palisade, 
and exposed to public derision, in punishment of his 
unknightly conduct. Having announced these precau- 
tions, the heralds concluded with an exhortation to each 
good knight to do his duty, and to merit favour from 
the Queen of Beauty and of Love. 

This proclamation having been made, the heralds 
withdrew to their stations. The knights, entering at 
either end of the lists, in long procession, arranged 
themselves in a double file, precisely opposite to each 
other, the leader of each party being in the centre of 
the foremost rank, a post which he did not occupy until 
each had carefully arranged the ranks of his party, 
and stationed every one in his place. 

It was a goodly, and at the same time an anxious, 
sight to behold so many gallant champions, mounted 
bravely and armed richly, stand ready prepared for an 
encounter so formidable, seated on their war-saddles 
like so many pillars of iron, and awaiting the signal of 
encounter with the same ardour as their generous steeds, 
which, by neighing and pawing the ground, gave sig- 
nal of their impatience. 

As yet the knights held their long lances upright, 
their bright points glancing to the sun, and the stream- 
ers with which they were decorated fluttering over the 
plumage of the helmets. Thus they remained while the 


142 


IVANHOE 


marshals of the field surv^eyed their ranks with the 
utmost exactness, lest either party had more or fewer 
than the appointed number. The tale was found ex- 
actly complete. The marshals then withdrew from the 
lists, and William de Wyvil, with a voice of thunder, 
pronounced the signal words — Laissez alter The 
trumpets sounded as he spoke; the spears of the cham- 
pions were at once lowered and placed in the rests ; the 
spurs were dashed into the flanks of the horses ; and the 
tAvo foremost ranks of either party rushed upon each 
other in full gallop, and met in the middle of the lists 
with a shock the sound of which Avas heard at a mile’s 
distance. The rear rank of each party advanced at 
a sloAver pace to sustain the defeated, and folloAV up the 
success of the victors, of their party. 

The consequences of the encounter Avere not instantly 
seen, for the dust raised by the trampling of so many 
steeds darkened the air, and it was a minute ere the 
anxious spectators could see the fate of the encounter. 
When the fight became visible, half the knights on each 
side Avere dismounted — some by the dexterity of their 
adversary’s lance; some by the superior weight and 
strength of opponents, Avhich had borne doAvn both horse 
and man ; some lay stretched on earth as if never more 
to rise; some had already gained their feet, and were 
closing hand to hand with those of their antagonists 
AA'ho Avere in the same predicament ; and several on both 
sides, AA’ho had received AV’ounds by Av^hich they were dis- 
abled, were stopping their blood by their scarfs, and 
endeavouring to extricate themselves from the tumult. 
The mounted knights, whose lances had been almost all 
broken by the fury of the encounter, were noAv closely 
engaged Avith their swords, shouting their war-cries, 
and exchanging buffets, as if honour and life depended 
on the issue of the combat. 

The tumult Avas presently increased by the advance 
of the second rank on either side, Avhich, acting as a 


IVANHOE 


143 


reserve, now rushed on to aid their companions. The 
followers of Brian de Bois-Guilbert shouted — ‘‘Ha! 
Beau-seant! Beau-seant! For the Temple! For the 
Temple!” The opposite party shouted in answer — 
Desdichado! Desdichado! which watchword they 
took from the motto upon their leader’s shield. 

The champions thus encountering each other with the 
utmost fury, and with alternate success, the tide of 
battle seemed to flow now toward the southern, now 
toward the northern, extremity of the lists, as the one 
or the other party prevailed. Meantime the clang of 
the blows and the shouts of the combatants mixed fear- 
fully with the sound of the trumpets, and drowned the 
groans of those who fell, and lay rolling defenceless 
beneath the feet of the horses. The splendid armour 
of the combatants was now defaced with dust and blood, 
and gave way at every stroke of the sword and battle- 
axe. The gay plumage, shorn from the crests, drifted 
upon the breeze like snowflakes. All that was beautiful 
and graceful in the martial array had disappeared, and 
what was now visible was only calculated to awake ter- 
ror or compassion. 

Yet such is the force of habit, that not only the 
vulgar spectators, who are naturally attracted by 
sights of horror, but even the ladies of distinction, who 
crowded the galleries, saw the conflict with a thrilling 
interest certainly, but without a wish to witlidraw their 
eyes from a sight so terrible. Here and there, indeed, 
a fair cheek might turn pale, or a faint scream might 
be heard, as a lover, a brother, or a husband was struck 
from his horse. But, in general, the ladies around 
encouraged the combatants, not only by clapping their 
hands and waving their veils and kerchiefs, but even 
by exclaiming, “ Brave lance ! Good sword ! ” when any 
successful thrust or blow took place under their 
observation. 

Such being the interest taken by the fair sex in this 


144 


IVANHOE 


bloody game, that of the men is the more easily under- 
stood. It showed itself in loud acclamations upon every 
change of fortune, while all eyes were so riveted on the 
lists that the spectators seemed as if they themselves 
had dealt and received the blows which were there so 
freely bestowed. And between every pause was heard 
the voice of the heralds, exclaiming, “ Fight on, brave 
knights ! Man dies, but glory lives ! Fight on ; death 
is better than defeat ! Fight on, brave knights ! for 
bright eyes behold your deeds ! ” 

Amid the varied fortunes of the combat, the eyes of 
all endeavoured to discover the leaders of each band, 
who, mingling in the thick of the fight, encouraged their 
companions both by voice and example. Both displayed 
great feats of gallantry, nor did either Bois-Guilbert 
or the Disinherited Knight find in the ranks opposed to 
them a champion who could be termed their unques- 
tioned match. They repeatedly endeavoured to single 
out each other, spurred by mutual animosity, and aware 
that the fall of either leader might be considered as 
decisive of victory. Such, however, was the crowd and 
confusion that, during the earlier part of the conflict, 
their efforts to meet were unavailing, and they were re- 
peatedly separated by the eagerness of their followers, 
each of whom was anxious to win honour by measuring 
his strength against the leader of the opposite party. 

But when the field became thin^ by the numbers on 
either side who had yielded themselves vanquished, had 
been compelled to the extremity of the lists, or been 
otherwise rendered incapable of continuing the strife, 
the Templar and the Disinherited Knight at length en- 
countered hand to hand, with all the fury that mortal 
animosity, joined to rivalry of honour, could inspire. 
Such was the address of each in parrying and striking, 
that the spectators broke forth into a unanimous and 
involuntary shout, expressive of their delight and ad- 
miration. 


IVANHOE 


145 


But at tills moment the party of the Disinherited 
Knight had the worst; the gigantic arm of Front-de- 
Boeuf on the one flank, and the ponderous strength of 
Athelstane on the other, bearing down and dispersing 
those immediately exposed to them. Finding themselves 
freed from their immediate antagonists, it seems to have 
occurred to both these knights at the same instant that 
they would render the most decisive advantage to their 
party by aiding the Templar in his contest with his 
rival. Turning their horses, therefore, at the same 
moment, the Norman spurred against the Disinherited 
Knight on the one side and the Saxon on the other. It 
was utterly impossible that the object of this unequal 
and unexpected assault could have sustained it, had he 
not been warned by a general cry from the spectators, 
who could not but take interest in one exposed to such 
disadvantage. 

“ Beware ! beware ! Sir Disinherited ! ” was shouted 
so universally that the knight became aware of his dan- 
ger; and striking a full blow at the Templar, he reined 
back his steed in the same moment, so as to escape 
the charge of Athelstane and Front-de-Boeuf. These 
knights, therefore, their aim being thus eluded, rushed 
from opposite sides betwixt the object of their attack 
and the Templar, almost running their horses against 
each other ere they could stop their career. Recover- 
ing their horses, however, and wheeling them round, 
the whole three pursued their united purpose of bearing 
to the earth the Disinherited Knight. 

Nothing could have saved him except the remarkable 
strength and activity of the noble horse which he had 
won on the preceding day. 

This stood him in the more stead, as the horse of 
Bois-Guilbert was wounded, and those of Front-de- 
Boeuf and Athelstane were both tired with the weight 
of their gigantic masters, clad in complete annour, and 
with the preceding exertions of the day. The masterly 
10 


146 


IVANHOE 


horsemanship of the Disinherited Knight, and the activ- 
ity of the noble animal which he mounted, enabled him 
for a few minutes to keep at sword^s point his three 
antagonists, turning and wheeling with the agility of 
a hawk upon the wing, keeping his enemies as far 
separate as he could, and rushing now against the one, 
now against the other, dealing sweeping blows with his 
sword, without waiting to receive those which were 
aimed at him in return. 

But although the list rang with the applauses of his 
dexterity, it was evident that he must at last be over- 
powered; and the nobles around Prince John implored 
him with one voice to throw down his warder, and to 
save so brave a knight from the disgrace of being over- 
come by odds. 

“ Not I, by the light of Heaven ! ” answered Prince 
John ; “ this same springal, who conceals his name and 
despises our proffered hospitality, has already gained 
one prize, and may now afford to let others have their 
turn.” As he spoke thus, an unexpected incident 
changed the fortune of the day. 

There was among the ranks of the Disinherited 
Knight a champion in black armour, mounted on a 
black horse, large of size, tall, and to all appearance 
powerful and strong, like the rider by whom he wms 
mounted. This knight, who bore on his shield no device 
of any kind, had hitherto evinced very little interest in 
the event of the fight, beating off with seeming ease 
those combatants who attacked him, but neither pur- 
suing his advantages nor himself assailing any one. 
In short, he had hitherto acted the part rather of a 
spectator than of a party in the touniamcnt, a circum- 
stance which procured him among the spectators the 
name of he Noir Faineant, or the Black Sluggard. 

At once this knight seemed to throw aside his apathy, 
when he discovered the leader of his party so hard be- 
stead; for, setting spurs to his horse, wdiich was quite 


TVANHOE 


147 


fresh, he came to his assistance like a thunderbolt, ex- 
claiming, in a voice like a trumpet-call, “ Desdichado, 
to the rescue ! ” It was high time ; for, while the Disin- 
herited Knight was pressing upon the Templar, Front- 
de-Boeuf had got nigh to him with his uplifted sword; 
but ere the blow could descend, the Sable Knight dealt 
a stroke on the head, which, glancing from the polished 
helmet, lighted with violence scarcely abated on the 
chamfron of the steed, and Front- de-Boeuf rolled on 
the ground, both horse and man equally stunned by the 
fury of the blow. Le Noir Faineant then turned his 
horse upon Athelstane of Coningsburgh ; and his own 
sword having been broken in his encounter with Front- 
de-Boeuf, he wrenched from the hand of the bulky 
Saxon the battle-axe wliich he wielded, and, like one 
familiar with the use of the weapon, bestowed him such 
a blow upon the crest that Athelstane also lay senseless 
on the field. Having achieved this double feat, for 
which he was the more highly applauded that it was 
totally unexpected from him, the knight seemed to 
resume the sluggishness of his character, returning 
calmly to the northern extremity of the lists, leaving his 
leader to cope as he best could with Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert. This was no longer matter of so much diffi- 
culty as formerly. The Templar’s horse had bled 
much, and gave way under the shock of the Disinherited 
Knight’s charge. Brian de Bois-Guilbert rolled on the 
field, encumbered with the stirrup, from which he was 
unable to draw his foot. His antagonist sprung from 
horseback, waved his fatal sword over the head of his 
adversary, and commanded him to yield himself ; when 
Prince John, more moved by the Templar’s dangerous 
situation than he had been by that of his rival, saved 
him the mortification of confessing himself vanquished, 
by casting down his warder and putting an end to the 
conflict. 

It was, indeed, only the relics and embers of the 


148 


IVANHOE 


fight which continued to bum ; for of the few knights 
who still continued in the lists, the greater part had, 
by tacit consent, forborne the conflict for some time, 
leaving it to be determined by the strife of the leaders. 

The squires, who had found it a matter of danger 
and difficulty to attend their masters during the en- 
gagement, now thronged into the lists to pay their 
dutiful attendance to the wounded, who were removed 
with the utmost care and attention to the neighbouring 
pavilions, or to the quarters prepared for them in the 
adjoining village. 

Thus ended the memorable field of Ashby-de-la- 
Zouche, one of the most gallantly contested tourna- 
ments of that age; for although only four knights, 
including one who was smothered by the heat of his 
armour, had died upon the field, yet upwards of thirty 
were desperately wounded, four or five of whom never 
recovered. Several more were disabled for life; and 
those who escaped best carried the marks of the conflict 
to the grave with them. Hence it is always mentioned 
in the old records as the “ gentle and joyous passage of 
arms of Ashby.” 

It being now the duty of Prince John to name the 
knight who had done best, he determined that the hon- 
our of the day remained with the knight whom the 
popular voice had termed Le Noir Faineant. It was 
pointed out to the Prince, in impeachment of this de- 
cree, that the victory had been in fact won by the 
Disinherited Knight, who, in the course of the day, had 
overcome six champions with his own hand, and who 
had finally unhorsed and struck down the leader of the 
opposite party. But Prince John adhered to his own 
opinion, on the ground that the Disinherited Knight 
and his party had lost the day but for the powerful 
assistance of the Knight of the Black Armour, to whom, 
therefore, he persisted in awarding the prize. 

To the surprise of all present, however, the knight 


IVANHOE 


149 


thus preferred was nowhere to be found. He had left 
the lists immediately when the conflict ceased, and had 
been observed by some spectators to move down one of 
the forest glades with the same slow pace and listless 
and indifferent manner which had procured him the 
epithet of the Black Sluggard. After he had been 
summoned twice by sound of trumpet and proclamation 
of the heralds, it became necessary to name another 
to receive the honours which had been assigned to him. 
Prince John had now no further excuse for resisting the 
claim of the Disinherited Knight, whom, therefore, he 
named the champion of the day. 

Through a field slippery with blood and encum- 
bered with broken armour and the bodies of slain and 
wounded horses, the marshals of the lists again con- 
ducted the victor to the foot of Prince John’s throne. 

“Disinherited Knight,” said Prince John, “since by 
that title only you will consent to be known to us, we 
a second time award to you the honours of this tourna- 
ment, and announce to you your right to claim and 
receive from the hands of the Queen of Love and Beauty 
the chaplet of honour wliich your valour has justly 
deserved.” The Knight bowed low and gracefully, but 
returned no answer. 

While the trumpets sounded, while the heralds 
strained their voices in proclaiming honour to the brave 
and glory to the victor, while ladies waved their silken 
kerchiefs and embroidered veils, and while all ranks 
joined in a clamorous shout of exultation, the marshals 
conducted the Disinherited Knight across the lists to 
the foot of that throne of honour which was occupied 
b3’’ the Lady Rowena. 

On the lower step of this throne the champion was 
made to kneel down. Indeed, his whole action since 
the fight had ended seemed rather to have been upon 
the impulse of those around him than from his own 
free will ; and it was observed that he tottered as they 


150 


IVANHOE 


guided him the second time across the lists. Rowena, 
descending from her station with a graceful and dig- 
nified step, was about to place the chaplet which she 
held in her hand upon the helmet of the champion, when 
the marshals exclaimed with one voice, “ It must not be 
thus ; his head must be bare.” The knight muttered 
faintly a few words, which were lost in the hollow of his 
helmet ; but their purport seemed to be a desire that 
his casque might not be removed. 

Whether from love of form or from curiosity, the 
marshals paid no attention to his expressions of re- 
luctance, but unhelmed him by cutting the laces of his 
casque, and undoing the fastening of his gorget. When 
the helmet was removed, the well-formed yet sun-burnt 
features of a young man of twenty-five were seen, 
amidst a profusion of short fair hair. His counte- 
nance was as pale as death, and marked in one or two 
places with streaks of blood. 

Rowena had no sooner beheld him than she uttered 
a faint shriek ; but at once summoning up the energy 
of her disposition, and compelling herself, as it were, 
to proceed, while her frame yet trembled with the vio- 
lence of sudden emotion, she placed upon the drooping 
head of the victor the splendid chaplet which was the 
destined reward of the day, and pronounced in a clear 
and distinct tone these words : ‘‘ I bestow on thee this 
chaplet. Sir Knight, as the meed of valour assigned to 
this day’s victor.” Here she paused a moment, and 
then firmly added, “And upon brows more worthy 
could a wreath of chivalry never be placed ! ” 

The knight stooped his head and kissed the hand of 
the lovely Sovereign by whom his valour had been 
rewarded; and then, sinking yet farther forward, lay 
prostrate at her feet. 

There was a general consternation. Cedric, who had 
been struck mute by the sudden appearance of his ban- 
ished son, now rushed forward, as if to separate him 


IVANHOE 


151 


from Rowena. But this had been already accomplished 
by the marshals of the field, who, guessing the cause 
of Ivanhoe’s swoon, had hastened to undo his armour, 
and found that the head of a lance had penetrated his 
breastplate and inflicted a wound in his side. 


CHAPTER XIII 

“Heroes, approach!” Atrides thus aloud; 

Stand forth distinguish’d from the circling crowd, 

Ye who by skill or manly force may claim 
Your rivals to surpass and merit fame. 

This cow, worth twenty oxen, is decreed 
For him who farthest sends the winged reed.” 

Iliad. 

T he name of Ivanhoe was no sooner pronounced 
than it flew from mouth to mouth with all the 
celerity with which eagerness could fonvey and 
curiosity receive it. It was not long ere it reached the 
circle of the Prince, whose brow darkened as he heard 
the news. Looking around him, however, with an air 
of scorn, “ My lords,” said he, “ and especially you. Sir 
Prior, what think ye of the doctrine the learned tell us 
concerning innate attractions and antipathies.^ Me- 
thinks that I felt the presence of my brother’s minion, 
even when I least guessed whom yonder suit of armour 
enclosed.” 

“ Front-de-Boeuf must prepare to restore his fief of 
Ivanhoe,” said De Bracy, who, having discharged his 
paid: honourably in the tournament, had laid his shield 
and helmet aside, and again mingled with the Prince’s 
retinue. 

‘‘Ay,” answered Waldemar Fitzurse, “this gallant 
is likely to reclaim the castle and manor wdiich Richard 
assigned to him, and wFich your Highness’s generosity 
has since given to Front-de-Boeuf.” 


152 


IVANIIOE 


“ Front-de-Boeuf replied John, ‘‘ is a man more will- 
ing to swallow three manors such as Ivanhoe than to 
disgorge one of them. For the rest, sirs, I hope none 
here will deny my right to confer the fiefs of the crown 
upon the faithful followers who are around me, and 
ready to perform the usual military service, in the room 
of those who have wandered to foreign countries, and 
can neither render homage nor service when called 
upon.” 

The audience were too much interested in the question 
not to pronounce the Prince’s assumed right altogether 
indubitable. “ A generous Prince ! a most noble Lord, 
who thus takes upon himself the task of rewarding 
his faithful followers ! ” 

Such were the words which burst from the train, 
expectants all of them of similar grants at the expense 
of King Richard’s followers and favourites, if indeed 
they had not as yet received such. Prior Aymer also 
assented to the general proposition, observing, how- 
ever, “ That the blessed Jerusalem could not indeed be 
termed a foreign country. She was communis mater 
— the mother of all Christians. But he saw not,” he 
declared, “ how the Knight of Ivanhoe could plead any 
advantage from this, since he (the Prior) was assured 
that the crusaders under Richard had never proceeded 
much farther than Askalon, which, as all the world 
knew, was a town of the Philistines, and entitled to none 
of the privileges of the Holy City.” 

Waldemar, whose curiosity had led him towards the 
place where Ivanhoe had fallen to the ground, now re- 
turned. “ The gallant,” said he, ‘‘ is likely to give your 
Highness little disturbance, and to leave Front-de- 
Boeuf in the quiet possession of his gains ; he is severely 
wounded.” 

“ Whatever becomes of him,” said Prince John, “ he 
is victor of the day ; and were he tenfold our enemy, or 
the devoted friend of our brother, which is perhaps the 


IVANHOE 153 

same, his wounds must be looked to ; our own physician 
shall attend him.” 

A stem smile curled the Prince’s lip as he spoke. 
Waldemar Fitzurse hastened to reply that Ivanhoe was 
already removed from the lists, and in the custody of his 
friends. 

“ I was somewhat afflicted,” he said, “ to see the grief 
of the Queen of Love and Beauty, whose sovereignty of 
a day this event has changed into mourning. I am not 
a man to be moved by a woman’s lament for her lover, but 
this same Lady Rowena suppressed her sorrow with 
such dignity of manner that it could only be discovered by 
her folded hands and her tearless eye, which trembled 
as it remained fixed on the lifeless form before her.” 

“Who is this Lady Rowena,” said Prince John, “of 
whom we have heard so much.^” 

“A Saxon heiress of large possessions,” replied the 
Prior Aymer ; “ a rose of loveliness, and a j ewel of 
wealth; the fairest among a thousand, a bundle of 
myrrh, and a cluster of camphire.” 

“We shall cheer her sorrows,” said Prince John, 
“ and amend her blood, by wedding her to a Norman. 
She seems a minor, and must therefore be at our royal 
disposal in marriage. How sayest thou. He Bracy.^^ 
What thinkst thou of gaining fair lands and livings, 
by wedding a Saxon, after the fashion of the followers 
of the Conqueror.?” 

“ If the lands are to my liking, my lord,” answered 
De Bracy, “ it will be hard to displease me with a bride ; 
and deeply will I hold myself bound to your Highness 
for a good deed, which will fulfil all promises made in 
favour of your servant and vassal.” 

“ We will not forget it,” said Prince John ; “ and that 
we may instantly go to work, command our seneschal 
presently to order the attendance of the Lady Rowena 
and her company — that is, the rude churl her guard- 
ian, and the Saxon ox whom the Black Knight struck 


IVANIIOE 


lo4. 

down in the tournament — upon this evening’s banquet. 
De Bigot,” he added to his seneschal, “ thou wilt word 
this our second summons so courteously as to gratify 
the pride of these Saxons, and make it impossible for 
them again to refuse ; although, by the bones of Becket, 
courtesy to them is casting pearls before swine.” 

Prince John had proceeded thus far, and was about 
to give the signal for retiring from the lists, when a 
small billet was put into his hand. 

“From whence.?” said Prince Jolm, looking at the 
person by whom it was delivered. 

“From foreign parts, my lord, but from whence 
I know not,” replied his attendant. “A Frenchman 
brought it liither, who said he had ridden night and 
day to put it into the hands of your Highness.” 

The Prince looked narrowly at the superscription, 
and then at the seal, placed so as to secure the flox- 
silk with which the billet was surrounded, and which bore 
the impression of three fleurs-de-lis. John then opened 
the billet with apparent agitation, which visibly and 
greatly increased when he had perused the contents, 
wdiich were expressed in these words : — 

“ Take heed to yourself, for the Devil is unchained ! ” 

The Prince turned as pale as death, looked first on 
the earth, and then to heaven, like a man who has re- 
ceived news that sentence of execution has been passed 
upon him. Recovering from the first effects of his 
surprise, he took Waldemar Fitzurse and De Bracy 
aside, and put the billet into their hands successively. 
“ It means,” he added, in a faltering voice, “ that my 
brother Richard has obtained his freedom.” 

“ This may be a false alarm or a forged letter,” said 
De Bracy. 

“ It is France’s own hand and seal,” replied Prince 
John. 

“ It is time, then,” said Fitzurse, “ to draw our party 
to a head, either at York or some other centrical place. 


IVANHOE 


155 


A few days later, and it will be indeed too late. A'our 
Highness must break short this present mummery.” 

“ The yeomen and commons,” said De Bracy, “ must 
not be dismissed discontented, for lack of their share in 
the sports.” 

“The day,” said Waldemar, “is not yet very far 
spent ; let the archers shoot a few rounds at the target, 
and the prize be adjudged. This will be an abundant 
fulfilment of the Prince’s promises, so far as this herd 
of Saxon serfs is concerned.” 

“I thank thee, Waldemar,” said the Prince; “thou 
remindest me, too, that I have a debt to pay to that 
insolent peasant who yesterday insulted our person. 
Our banquet also shall go forward to-night as we pro- 
posed. Were tliis my last hour of power, it should be 
an hour sacred to revenge and to pleasure; let new 
cares come with to-morrow’s new day.” 

The sound of the trumpets soon recalled those spec- 
tators who had already begun to leave the field; and 
proclamation was made that Prince John, suddenly 
called by high and peremptory public duties, held him- 
self obliged to discontinue the entertainments of to- 
morrow’s festival ; nevertheless, that, unwilling so many 
good yeomen should depart without a trial of skill, he 
was pleased to appoint them, before leaving the ground, 
presently to execute the competition of archery in- 
tended for the morrow. To the best archer a prize was 
to be awarded, being a bugle-hom, mounted with silver, 
and a silken baldric richly ornamented with a medallion 
of Saint Hubert, the patron of silvan sport. 

More than thirty yeomen at first presented themselves 
as competitors, several of whom were rangers and 
imder-keepers in the royal forests of Needwood and 
Chamwood. Wlien, however, the archers understood 
with whom they were to be matched, upwards of twenty 
withdrew themselves from the contest, unwilling to en- 
counter the dishonour of almost certain defeat. For in 


156 


IVANHOE 


those days the skill of each celebrated marksman was 
as well known for many miles round him as the qualities 
of a horse trained at Newmarket are familiar to those 
who frequent that well-known meeting. 

The diminished list of competitors for silvan fame 
still amounted to eight. Prince John stepped from his 
royal seat to view more nearly the persons of these 
chosen yeomen, several of whom wore the royal livery. 
Having satisfied his curiosity by this investigation, he 
looked for the object of his resentment, whom he ob- 
served standing on the same spot, and with the same 
composed countenance which he had exhibited upon the 
preceding day. 

“Fellow,” said Prince John, “I guessed by thy inso- 
lent babble thou wert no true lover of the long-bow, and 
I see thou darest not adventure thy skill among such 
merry men as stand yonder.” 

“ Under favour, sir,” replied the yeoman, “ I have 
another reason for refraining to shoot, besides the fear- 
ing discomfiture and disgrace.” 

“And what is thy other reason.?” said Prince John, 
who, for some cause which perhaps he could not himself 
have explained, felt a painful curiosity respecting this 
individual. 

“ Because,” replied the woodsman, “ I know not if 
these yeomen and I are used to shoot at the same marks ; 
and because, moreover, I know not how your Grace 
might relish the winning of a third prize by one who 
has unwittingly fallen under your displeasure.” 

Prince John coloured as he put the question, “ What 
is thy name, yeoman .? ” 

“Locksley,” answered the yeoman. 

“Then, Locksley,” said Prince John, “thou shalt 
shoot in thy turn, when these yeomen have displayed 
their skill. If thou earnest the prize, I will add to 
it twenty nobles; but if thou losest it, thou shalt 
be stript of thy Lincoln green and scourged out of 


IVANHOE 157 

the lists with bowstrings, for a wordy and insolent 
braggart.” 

“And how if I refuse to shoot on such a wager 
said the yeoman. “ Your Grace’s power, supported, as 
it is, by so many men-at-arms, may indeed easily strip 
and scourge me, but cannot compel me to bend or to 
draw my bow.” 

“ If thou refusest my fair proffer,” said the Prince, 
“ the provost of the lists shall cut thy bowstring, break 
thy bow and arrows, and expel thee from the presence 
as a faint-hearted craven.” 

“ This is no fair chance you put on me, proud 
Prince,” said the yeoman, “ to compel me to peril 
myself against the best archers of Leicester and 
Staffordshire, under the penalty of infamy if they 
should overshoot me. Nevertheless, I will obey your 
pleasure.” 

“Look to him close, men-at-arms,” said Prince John, 
“his heart is sinking; I am jealous lest he attempt to 
escape the trial. And do you, good fellows, shoot boldly 
round ; a buck and a butt of wine are ready for your 
refreshment in yonder tent, when the prize is won.” 

A target was placed at the upper end of the southern 
avenue which led to the lists. The contending archers 
took their station in turn, at the bottom of the southern 
access ; the distance between that station and the mark 
allowing full distance for what was called a shot at 
rovers. The archers having previously determined by 
lot their order of precedence, were to shoot each three 
shafts in succession. The sports were regulated by an 
officer of inferior rank, termed the provost of the games ; 
for the high rank of the marshals of the lists would have 
been held degraded had they condescended to superin- 
tend the sports of the yeomanry. 

One by one the archers, stepping forward, delivered 
their shafts yeomanlike and bravely. Of twenty-four 
arrows shot in succession, ten were fixed in the target. 


158 


IVANIIOE 


and the others ranged so near it that, considering the 
distance of the mark, it was accounted good archery. 
Of the ten shafts which hit the target, two within the 
inner ring were shot by Hubert, a forester in the 
service of Malvoisin, who was accordingly pronounced 
victorious. 

“ Now, Locksley,” said Prince John to the bold yeo- 
man, with a bitter smile, ‘‘ wilt thou try conclusions with 
Hubert, or wilt thou yield up bow, baldric, and quiver 
to the provost of the sports ? ” 

“ Sith it be no better,” said Locksley, “ I am content 
to try my fortune; on condition that when I have shot 
two shafts at yonder mark of Hubert’s, he shall be 
bound to shoot one at that which I shall propose.” 

“ That is but fair,” answered Prince John, “ and it 
shall not be refused thee. If thou dost beat this brag- 
gart, Hubert, I will fill the bugle with silver pennies 
for thee.” 

“ A man can do but his best,” answered Hubert ; ‘‘ but 
my grandsire drew a good long bow at Hastings, and 
I trust not to dishonour his memory.” 

The former target was now removed, and a fresh 
one of the same size placed in its room. Hubert, who, 
as victor in the first trial of skill, had the right to shoot 
first, took his aim with great deliberation, long measur- 
ing the distance with his eye, while he held in his hand 
his bended bow, with the arrow placed on the string. 
At length he made a step forward, and raising the bow 
at the full stretch of his left arm, till the centre or 
grasping-place was nigh level with his face, he drew 
his bowstring to his ear. The arrow whistled through 
the air, and lighted within the inner ring of the target, 
but not exactly in the centre. 

“You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert,” said 
his antagonist, bending his bow, “or that had been a 
better shot.” 

So saying, and without showing the least anxiety to 


IVANHOE 


159 


pause upon his aim, Locksley slept to the appointed 
station, and shot his arrow as carelessly in appearance 
as if he had not even looked at the mark. He was speak- 
ing almost at the instant that the shaft left the bow- 
string, yet it alighted in the target two inches nearer 
to the white spot which marked the centre than that 
of Hubert. 

“ By the light of Heaven ! ” said Prince John to 
Hubert, “ an thou suffer that runagate knave to over- 
come thee, thou art worthy of the gallows ! ” 

Hubert had but one set speech for all occasions. 
“ An your Highness were to hang me,” he said, “ a man 
can but do his best. Nevertheless, my grandsire drew 
a good bow — ” 

“ The foul fiend on thy grandsire and all his genera- 
tion!” interrupted John. “Shoot, knave, and shoot 
thy best, or it shall be worse for thee!” 

Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and not 
neglecting the caution which he had received from his 
adversary, he made the necessary allowance for a very 
light air of wind which had just arisen, and shot so 
successfully that his arrow alighted in the very centre 
of the target. 

“ A Hubert ! a Hubert ! ” shouted the populace, more 
interested in a known person than in a stranger. “ In 
the clout ! — in the clout ! a Hubert for ever ! ” 

“ Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley,” said the 
Prince, with an insulting smile. 

“ I will notch his shaft for him, however,” replied 
Locksley. 

And letting fly his arrow with a little more precau- 
tion than before, it lighted right upon that of his com- 
petitor, which it split to shivers. The people who stood 
around were so astonished at his wonderful dexterity 
that they could not even give vent to their surprise in 
their usual clamour. “ This must be the devil, and no 
man of flesh and blood,” whispered the yeomen to each 


160 


lYANHOE 


other ; “ such archery was never seen since a bow was 
first bent in Britain.” 

“ And now,” said Locksley, “ I will crave your 
Grace’s permission to plant such a mark as is used in 
the North Country; and welcome every brave yeoman 
who shall try a shot at it to win a smile from the bonny 
lass he loves best.” 

He then turned to leave the lists. “ Let your guards 
attend me/’ he said, “ if you please ; I go but to cut 
a rod from the next willow-bush.” 

Prince John made a signal that some attendants 
should follow him in case of his escape ; but the cry of 
“ Shame ! shame ! ” which burst from the multitude in- 
duced him to alter his ungenerous purpose. 

Locksley returned almost instantly with a willow 
wand about six feet in length, perfectly straight, and 
rather thicker than a man’s thumb. He began to peel 
this with great composure, observing at the same time 
that to ask a good woodsman to shoot at a target so 
broad as had hitherto been used was to put shame upon 
his skill. “For his own part,” he said, “and in the 
land where he was bred, men would as soon take for 
their mark King Arthur’s round table, which held sixty 
knights around it. A child of seven years old,” he said, 
“ might hit yonder target with a headless shaft ; but,” 
added he, walking deliberately to the other end of the 
lists, and sticking the willow wand upright in the 
ground, “he that hits that rod at fivescore yards, I 
call him an archer fit to bear both bow and quiver 
before a king, an it were the stout King Richard 
himself.” 

“ My grandsire,” said Hubert, “ drew a good bow at 
the battle of Hastings, and never shot at such a mark 
in his life — and neither will I. If this yeoman can 
cleave that rod, I give him the bucklers ; or rather, I 
yield to the devil that is in his jerkin, and not to any 
human skill ; a man can but do his best, and I will not 


IVANHOE 


IGl 


shoot where I am sure to miss. I might as well shoot 
at the edge of our parson ’s whittle, or at a wheat straw, 
or at a sunbeam, as at a twinkling white streak which 
I can hardly see.” 

“ Cowardly dog ! ” said Prince John. “ Sirrah Locks- 
ley, do thou shoot; but if thou hittest such a mark, I 
will say thou art the first man ever did so. Howe’er it 
be, thou shalt not crow over us with a mere show of 
superior skill.” 

“ I will do my best, as Hubert says,” answered Locks- 
ley ; “ no man can do more.” 

So saying, he again bent his bow, but on the pres- 
ent occasion looked with attention to his weapon, and 
changed the string, which he thought was no longer 
truly round, having been a little frayed by the two 
former shots. He then took his aim with some delibera- 
tion, and the multitude awaited the event in breathless 
silence. The archer vindicated their opinion of his skill : 
his arrow split the willow rod against which it was 
aimed. A jubilee of acclamations followed; and even 
Prince John, in admiration of Locksley’s skill, lost for 
an instant his dislike to his person. “ These twenty 
nobles,” he said, “ which, with the bugle, thou hast 
fairly won, are thine own ; we will make them fifty if 
thou wilt take livery and service with us as a yeoman 
of our body-guard, and be near to our person. For 
never did so strong a hand bend a bow or so true an 
eye direct a shaft.” 

“ Pardon me, noble Prince,” said Locksley ; “ but I 
have vowed that, if ever I take service, it should be with 
your royal brother King Richard. These twenty nobles 
I leave to Hubert, who has this day drawn as brave a 
bow as his grandsire did at blastings. Had his mod- 
esty not refused the trial, he would have hit the wand 
as well as I.” 

Hubert shook his head as he received with reluctance 
the bounty of the stranger; and Locksley, anxious to 
11 


162 IVANHOE 

escape further observation, mixed with the crowd, and 
was seen no more. 

The victorious archer would not perhaps have es- 
caped John’s attention so easily, had not that Prince 
had other subjects of anxious and more important 
meditation pressing upon his mind at that instant. He 
called upon his chamberlain as he gave the signal for 
retiring from the lists, and commanded him instantly 
to gallop to Ashby and seek out Isaac the Jew. “ Tell 
the dog,” he said, “ to send me, before sundown, two 
thousand crowns. He knows the security ; but thou 
mayst show him this ring for a token. The rest of the 
money must be paid at York within six days. If he 
neglects, I will have the unbelieving villain’s head. 
Look^ that thou pass him not on the way ; for the 
circumcised slave was displaying his stolen finery 
amongst us.” 

So saying, the Prince resumed his horse, and returned 
to Ashby, the whole crowd breaking up and dispersing 
upon his retreat. 


CHAPTER XIV 

In rough magnificence array’d, 

When ancient chivalry display’d 
The pomp of her heroic games. 

And crested chiefs and tissued dames 
Assembled, at the clarion’s call. 

In some proud castle’s high arch’d hall. 

Waeton. 

P RINCE JOHN held his high festival in the Castle 
of Ashby. This was not the same building of 
which the stately ruins still interest the traveller, 
and which was erected at a later period by the Lord 
Hastings, High Chamberlain of England, one of the 
first victims of the tyranny of Richard the Third, and 


IVANHOE 


163 


yet better known as one of Shakespeare’s characters 
than by his historical fame. The castle and town of 
Ashby, at this time, belonged to Roger de Quincey, 
Earl of Winchester, who, during the period of our his- 
tory, was absent in the Holy Land. Prince John, in 
the meanwhile, occupied his castle, and disposed of his 
domains without scruple ; and seeking at present to 
dazzle men’s eyes by his hospitality and magnificence, 
had given orders for great preparations, in order to 
render the banquet as splendid as -possible. 

The purveyors of the Prince, who exercised on this 
and other occasions the full authority of royalty, had 
swept the country of all that could be collected which 
was esteemed fit for their master’s table. Guests also 
were invited in great numbers ; and in the necessity in 
W’hich he then found himself of courting popularity. 
Prince John had extended his invitation to a few dis- 
tinguished Saxon and Danish families, as well as to 
the Norman nobility and gentry of the neighbourhood. 
However despised and degraded on ordinary occasions, 
the great numbers of the Anglo-Saxons must neces- 
sarily render them formidable in the civil commotions 
which seemed approaching, and it was an obvious point 
of policy to secure popularity with their leaders. 

It was accordingly the Prince’s intention, which he 
for some time maintained, to treat these unwonted 
guests with a courtesy to which they had been little 
accustomed. But although no man with less scruple 
made his ordinary habits and feelings bend to his in- 
terest, it was the misfortune of this Prince that his 
levity and petulance were perpetually breaking out, 
and undoing all that had been gained by his previous 
dissimulation. 

Of this ficklQ temper he gave a memorable example in 
Ireland, when sent thither by his father, Henry the 
Second, with the purpose of buying golden opinions of 
the inhabitants of that new and important acquisition 


164 


IVANHOE 


to the English crown. Upon this occasion the Irish 
chieftains contended which should first offer to the 
young Prince their loyal homage and the kiss of peace. 
But, instead of receiving their salutations with cour- 
tesy, John and his petulant attendants could not resist 
the temptation of pulling the long beards of the Irish 
chieftains — a conduct which, as might have been ex- 
pected, was highly resented by these insulted digni- 
taries, and produced fatal consequences to the English 
domination in Ireland. It is necessary to keep these 
inconsistencies of John’s character in view? that the 
reader may understand his conduct during the present 
evening. 

In execution of the resolution which he had formed 
during his cooler moments. Prince John received Cedric 
and Athelstane with distinguished courtesy, and ex- 
pressed his disappointment, without resentment, when 
the indisposition of Rowena was alleged by the former 
as a reason for her not attending upon his gracious 
summons. Cedric and Athelstane were both dressed in 
the ancient Saxon garb, which, although not unhand- 
some in itself, and in the present instance composed of 
costly materials, was so remote in shape and appear- 
ance from that of the other guests that Prince John 
took great credit to himself with Waldemar Fitzurse 
for refraining from laughter at a sight which the 
fashion of the day rendered ridiculous. Yet, in the 
eye of sober judgment, the short close tunic and long 
mantle of the Saxons was a more graceful, as well as 
a more convenient, dress than the garb of the Normans, 
whose under-garment was a long doublet, so loose as to 
resemble a shirt or waggoner’s frock, covered by a 
cloak of scanty dimensions, neither fit to defend the 
wearer from cold nor from rain, and the only purpose 
of which appeared to be to display as much fur, em- 
broidery, and jewellery work as the ingenuity of the 
tailor could contrive to lay upon it. The Emperor 


IVANHOE 


165 


Charlemagne, in whose reign they were first introduced, 
seems to have been very sensible of the inconveniences 
arising from the fashion of this garment. “In Heaven’s 
name,” said he, “ to what purpose serve these abridged 
cloaks.^ If we are in bed they are no cover, on horse- 
back they are no protection from the wind and rain, 
and when seated they do not guard our legs from the 
damp or the frost.” 

Nevertheless, spite of this imperial objurgation, the 
short cloaks continued in fashion down to the time of 
which we treat, and particularly among the princes of 
the house of Anjou. They were therefore in universal 
use among Prince Jolm’s courtiers ; and the long 
mantle, which formed the upper garment of the Saxons, 
was held in proportional derision. 

The guests were seated at a table which groaned 
under the quantity of good cheer. The numerous cooks 
who attended on the Prince’s progress, having exerted 
all their art in varying the forms in which the ordinary 
provisions were served up, had succeeded almost as well 
as the modern professors of the culinary art in render- 
ing them perfectly unlike their natural appearance. 
Besides these dishes of domestic origin, there were vari- 
ous delicacies brought from foreign parts, and a quan- 
tity of rich pastry, as well as of the simnel bread and 
wastel cakes, which were only used at the tables of the 
highest nobility. The banquet was crowned with the 
richest wines, both foreign and domestic. 

But, though luxurious, the Norman nobles were not, 
generally speaking, an intemperate race. While in- 
dulging themselves in the pleasures of the table, they 
aimed at delicacy, but avoided excess, and were apt to 
attribute gluttony and drunkenness to the vanquished 
Saxons, as vices peculiar to their inferior station. 
Prince John, indeed, and those who courted his pleas- 
ure by imitating his foibles, were apt to indulge to 
excess in the pleasures of the trencher and the goblet; 


166 


IVANHOE 


and indeed it is well known that his death was occa- 
sioned by a surfeit upon peaches and new ale. His 
conduct, however, was an exception to the general 
manners of his countrymen. 

With sly gravity, interrupted only by private signs 
to each other, the Norman knights and nobles beheld 
the ruder demeanour of Athelstane and Cedric at a 
banquet to the form and fashion of which they were 
unaccustomed. And while their manners were thus the 
subject of sarcastic observation, the untaught Saxons 
unwittingly transgressed several of the arbitrary rules 
established for the regulation of society. Now, it is 
well known that a man may with more impunity be 
guilty of an actual breach either of real good breeding 
or of good morals, than appear ignorant of the most 
minute point of fashionable etiquette. Thus Cedric, 
who dried his hands with a towel, instead of suffering 
the moisture to exhale by waving them gracefully in 
the air, incurred more ridicule than his companion 
Athelstane, when he swallowed to his own single share 
the whole of a large pasty composed of the most ex- 
quisite foreign delicacies, and termed at that time a 
“ karum pie.” When, however, it was discovered, by 
a serious cross-examination, that the thane of Conings- 
burgh — or franklin, as the Normans termed him — 
had no idea what he had been devouring, and that he 
had taken the contents of the “karum pie” for larks 
and pigeons, whereas they were in fact beccaficoes and 
nightingales, his ignorance brought him in for an 
ample share of the ridicule which would have been more 
justly bestowed on his gluttony. 

The long feast had at length its end; and, while 
the goblet circulated freely, men talked of the feats of 
the preceding tournament — if the unknown victor in the 
archery games, of the Black Knight, whose self-denial 
had induced him to withdraw from the honours he had 
won, and of the gallant Ivanhoe, who had so dearly 


IVANHOE 


1G7 


bought the honours of the day. The topics were treated 
with military frankness, and the jest and laugh went 
round the hall. The brow of Prince John alone was 
overclouded during these discussions ; some overpower- 
ing care seemed agitating his mind, and it was only 
when he received occasional hints from his attendants 
that he seemed to take interest in what was passing 
around him. On such occasions he would start up, 
quaff a cup of wine as if to raise his spirits, and then 
mingle in the conversation by some observation made 
abruptly or at random. 

“ We drink this beaker,” said he, “ to the health of 
Wilfred of Ivanhoe, champion of this passage of arms, 
and grieve that his wound renders him absent from 
our board. Let all fill to the pledge, and especially 
Cedric of Rotherwood, the worthy father of a son so 
promising.” 

“No', my lord,” replied Cedric, standing up, and 
placing on the table his untasted cup, “ I yield not the 
name of son to the disobedient youth who at once de- 
spises my commands and relinquishes the manners and 
customs of his fathers.” 

“ ’T is impossible,” cried Prince John, with well- 
feigned astonishment, “ that so gallant a knight should 
be an unworthy or disobedient son ! ” 

“Yet, my lord,” answered Cedric, “ so it is with this 
Wilfred. He left my homely dwelling to mingle with 
the gay nobility of your brother’s court, where he 
learned to do those tricks of horsemanship which you 
prize so highly. He left it contrary to my wish and 
command; and in the days of Alfred that would have 
been termed disobedience — ay, and a crime severely 
punishable.” 

“Alas!” replied Prince John, with a deep sigh of 
affected sympathy, “ since your son was a follower of 
my unhappy brother, it need not be inquired where or 
from whom he learned the lesson of filial disobedience.” 


1G8 


IVANHOE 


Thus spake Prince John, wilfully forgetting that, 
of all the sons of Henry the Second, though no one was 
free from the charge, he himself had been most dis- 
tinguished for rebellion and ingratitude to his father. 

“ I think,” said he, after a moment’s pause, “ that 
my brother proposed to confer upon his favourite the 
rich manor of Ivanhoe.” 

“ He did endow him with it,” answered Cedric ; “ nor 
is it my least quarrel with my son that he stooped to 
hold, as a feudal vassal, the very domains which his 
fathers possessed in free and independent right.” 

“We shall then have your willing sanction, good 
Cedric,” said Prince John, “to confer this fief upon a 
person whose dignity will not be diminished by holding 
land of the British crown. Sir Reginald Front-de- 
Boeuf,” he said, turning towards that baron, “ I trust 
you will so keep the goodly barony of Ivanhoe that Sir 
Wilfred shall not incur his father’s displeasure by 
again entering upon that fief.” 

“ By St. Anthony ! ” answered the black-browed 
giant, “ I will consent that your Highness shall hold 
me a Saxon, if either Cedric or Wilfred, or the best 
that ever bore English blood, shall wrench from me the 
gift with which your Highness has graced me.” 

“ Whoever shall call thee Saxon, Sir Baron,” re- 
plied Cedric, offended at a mode of expression by which 
the Normans frequently expressed their habitual coij- . 
tempt of the English, “ will do thee an honour as great ^ 
as it is undeserved.” 

Front-de-Boeuf would have replied, but Prince John’s 
petulance and levity got the start. 

“Assuredly,” said he, “my lords, the noble Cedric 
speaks truth ; and his race may claim precedence over 
us as much in the length of their pedigrees as in the 
longitude of their cloaks.” 

“ They go before us indeed in the field, as deer before 
dogs,” said Malvoisin. 


IVANHOE 


169 


“ And with good right may they go before us ; for- 
get not,” said Prior Aymer, “ the superior decency and 
decorum of their manners.” 

“ Their singular abstemiousness and temperance,” 
said De Bracy, forgetting the plan which promised 
him a Saxon bride. 

“Together with the courage and conduct,” said 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, “by which they distinguished 
themselves at Hastings and elsewhere.” 

While, with smooth and smiling cheek, the courtiers, 
each in turn, followed their Prince’s example, and aimed 
a shaft of ridicule at Cedric, the face of the Saxon be- 
came inflamed with passion, and he glanced his eyes 
fiercely from one to another, as if the quick succession 
of so many injuries had prevented his replying to them 
in turn ; or, like a baited bull, who, surrounded by his 
tormentors, is at a loss to choose from among them the 
immediate object of his revenge. At length he spoke, 
in a voice half-choked with passion ; and, addressing 
himself to Prince John as the head and front of the 
offence which he had received, “Whatever,” he said, 
“have been the follies and vices of our race, a Saxon 
would have been held nidering (the most emphatic term 
for abject worthlessness) who should in his own hall, 
and while his own wine-cup passed, have treated, or 
suffered to be treated, an unoffending guest as your 
Highness has this day beheld me used; and whatever 
was the misfortune of our fathers on the field of Hast- 
ings, those may at least be silent (here he looked at 
Front-de-Bceuf and the Templar) who have within these 
few hours once and again lost saddle and stirrup before 
the lance of a Saxon.” 

“By my faith, a biting jest!” said Prince John. 
“How like you it, sirs.? Our Saxon subjects rise 
in spirit and courage, become shrewd in wit and 
bold in bearing, in these unsettled times. What say 
ye, my lords.? By tliis good light, I hold it best 


170 IVANHOE 

to take our galleys and return to Normandy in 
time.” 

“ For fear of the Saxons ? ” said De Bracy , laughing. 
“We should need no weapons but our hunting spears 
to bring these boars to bay.” 

“A truce with your raillery, Sir Knights,” said 
Fitzurse ; “ and it were well,” he added, addressing the 
Prince, “ that your Highness should assure the worthy 
Cedric there is no insult intended him by jests which 
must sound but harshly in the ear of a stranger.” 

“Insult!” answered Prince John, resuming his cour- 
tesy of demeanour ; “ I trust it will not be thought that 
I could mean or permit any to be offered in my pres- 
ence. Here! I fill my cup to Cedric himself, since he 
refuses to pledge his son’s health.” 

The cup went round amid the well-dissembled ap- 
plause of the courtiers, which, however, failed to make 
the impression on the mind of the Saxon that had been 
designed. He was not naturally acute of perception, 
but those too much undervalued his understanding who 
deemed that this flattering compliment would obliterate 
the sense of the prior insult. He was silent, however, 
when the royal pledge again passed round, “To Sir 
Athelstane of Coningsburgh.” 

The knight made his obeisance, and showed his sense 
of the honour by draining a huge goblet in answer 
to it. 

“And now, sirs,” said Prince John, who began to 
be warmed with the wine which he had drank, “ having 
done justice to our Saxon guests, we will pray of them 
some requital to our courtesy. Worthy thane,” he 
continued, addressing Cedric, “ may we pray you to 
name to us some Norman whose mention may least 
sully your mouth, and to wash down with a goblet of 
wine all bitterness w’hich the sound may leave be- 
hind it.?”’ 

Fitzurse arose while Prince John spoke, and gliding 


IVANHOE 


171 


behind the seat of the Saxon, whispered to him not to 
omit the opportunity of putting an end to unkindness 
betwixt the two races by naming Prince John. The 
Saxon replied not to this politic insinuation, but, rising 
up, and filling his cup to the brim, he addressed Prince 
John in these words: “Your Highness has required 
that I should name a Norman deserving to be remem- 
bered at our banquet. This, perchance, is a hard task, 
since it calls on the slave to sing the praises of the 
master — upon the vanquished, while pressed by all the 
evils of conquest, to sing the praises of the conqueror. 
Yet I will name a Norman — the first in arms and in 
place — the best and noblest of his race. And the lips 
that shall refuse to pledge me to his well-earned fame, 
I term false and dishonoured, and will so maintain them 
with my life. I quaff this goblet to the health of 
Richard the Lion-hearted!” 

Prince John, who had expected that his own name 
would have closed the Saxon’s speech, started when that 
of his injured brother was so unexpectedly introduced. 
He raised mechanically the wine-cup to his lips, then 
instantly set it down, to view the demeanour of the 
company at this unexpected proposal, which many of 
them felt it as unsafe to oppose as to comply with. 
Some of them, ancient and experienced courtiers, closely 
imitated the example of the Prince himself, raising the 
goblet to their lips, and again replacing it before them. 
There were many who, with a more generous feeling, 
exclaimed, “Long live King Richard! and may he be 
speedily restored to us ! ” And some few, among whom 
were Front-de-Boeuf and the Templar, in sullen disdain 
suffered their goblets to stand untasted before them. 
But no man ventured directly to gainsay a pledge filled 
to the health of the reigning monarch. 

Having enjoyed his triumph for about a minute, 
Cedric said to his companion, “Up, noble Athelstane! 
we have remained here long enough, since we have 


172 


IVANHOE 


requited the hospitable courtesy of Prince John’s ban- 
quet. Those who wish to know further of our rude 
Saxon manners must henceforth seek us in the homes 
of our fathers, since we have seen enough of royal ban- 
quets and enough of Norman courtesy.” 

So saying, he arose and left the banqueting-room, 
followed by Athelstane, and by several other guests, 
who, partaking of the Saxon lineage, held themselves 
insulted by the sarcasms of Prince John and his 
courtiers. 

“By the bones of St. Thomas,” said Prince John, as 
they retreated, “ the Saxon churls have borne off the 
best of the day, and have retreated with triumph ! ” 
Conclamatum est, poculatum said Prior Ay- 

mer: “we have drunk and we have shouted, it were 
time we left our wine flagons.” 

“ The monk hath some fair penitent to shrive to- 
night, that he is in such a hurry to depart,” said De 
Bracy. 

“Not so. Sir Knight,” replied the Abbot; “but I 
must move several miles forward this evening upon my 
homeward journey.” 

“ They are breaking up,” said the Prince in a whis- 
per to Fitzurse ; “ their fears anticipate the event, and 
this coward Prior is the first to shrink from me.” 

“Fear not, my lord,” said Waldemar; “I will show 
him such reasons as shall induce him to join us when we 
hold our meeting at York. Sir Prior,” he said, “ I 
must speak with you in private before you mount your 
palfrey.” 

The other guests were now fast dispersing, with the 
exception of those immediately attached to Prince 
John’s faction and his retinue. 

“This, then, is the result of your advice,” said the 
Prince, turning an angry countenance upon Fitzurse; 
“that I should be bearded at my own board by a 
drunken Saxon churl, and that, on the mere sound of 


IVANHOE 173 


my brother’s name, men should fall off from me as if 
I had the leprosy ? ” 

“ Have patience, sir,” replied his counsellor ; “ I 
might retort your accusation, and blame the incon- 
siderate levity which foiled my design, and misled your 
own better judgment. But this is no time for recrimi- 
nation. De Bracy and I will instantly go among these 
shuffling cowards and convince them they have gone too 
far to recede.” 

“It will be in vain,” said Prince John, pacing the 
apartment with disordered steps, and expressing him- 
self with an agitation to which the wine he had drank 
partly contributed — “it will be in vain; they have 
seen the handwriting on the wall — they have marked 
the paw of the lion in the sand — they have heard his 
approaching roar shake the wood; nothing will reani- 
mate their courage.” 

“Would to God,” said Fitzurse to De Bracy, “that 
aught could reanimate his own ! His brother’s very 
name is an ague to him. Unhappy are the counsellors 
of a prince who wants fortitude and perseverance alike 
in good and in evil!” 

/ 


CHAPTER XV 


And yet he thinks — ha, ha, ha, ha — he tliinks 
I am the tool and servant of his will. 

Well, let it be; through all the maze of trouble 
His plots and base oppression must create, 

I’ll shape myself a way to higher things. 

And who will say ’t is wrong ? 

Basils a Tragedy. 

N O spider ever took more pains to repair the 
shattered meshes of his web than did Waldemar 
Fitzurse to reunite and combine the scattered 
members of Prince John’s cabal. Few of these were at- 
tached to him from inclination, and none from personal 


1/4 


IVANHOE 


regard. It was therefore necessary that Fitzurse 
should open to them new prospects of advantage, and 
remind them of those which they at present enjoyed. 
To the young and wild nobles he held out the prospect 
of unpunished license and uncontrolled revelry, to the 
ambitious that of power, and to the covetous that of 
increased wealth and extended domains. The leaders 
of the mercenaries received a donation in gold — an 
argument the most persuasive to their minds, and 
without which all others would have proved in vain. 
Promises were still more liberally distributed than 
money by this active agent; and, in fine, nothing was 
left undone that could determine the wavering or ani- 
mate the disheartened. The return of King Richard 
he spoke of as an event altogether beyond the reach of 
probability; yet, when he observed, from the doubtful 
looks and uncertain answers which he received, that 
this was the apprehension by which the minds of his 
accomplices were most haunted, he boldly treated that 
event, should it really take place, as one which ought 
not to alter their political calculations. 

“ If Richard returns,” said Fitzurse, “ he returns to 
enrich his needy and impoverished crusaders at the ex- 
pense of those who did not follow him to the Holy Land. 
He returns to call to a fearful reckoning those who, 
during his absence, have done aught that can be con- 
strued offence or encroachment upon either the laws of 
the land or the privileges of the crown. He returns to 
avenge upon the Orders of the Temple and the Hospi- 
tal the preference which they showed to Philip of France 
during the wars in the Holy Land. He returns, in fine, 
to punish as a rebel every adherent of his brother Prince 
John. Are ye afraid of his power.?” continued the 
artful confidant of that Prince; “we acknowledge him 
a strong and valiant knight ; but these are not the days 
of King Arthur, when a champion could encounter an 
army. If Richard indeed comes back, it must be alone. 


IVANHOE 


175 


unfollowed, unfriended. The bones of his gallant army 
have whitened the sands of Palestine. The few of his 
followers who have returned have straggled hither like 
this Wilfred of Ivanhoe, beggared and broken men. 
And what talk ye of Richard’s right of birth ” he pro- 
ceeded, in answer to those who objected scruples on that 
head. “ Is Richard’s title of primogeniture more de- 
cidedly certain than that of Duke Robert of Normandy, 
the Conqueror’s eldest son.^^ And yet William the Red 
and Henry, his second and third brothers, were suc- 
cessively preferred to him by the voice of the nation. 
Robert had every merit which can be pleaded for 
Richard : he was a bold knight, a good leader, generous 
to his friends and to the church, and, to crown the 
whole, a crusader and a conqueror of the Holy Sepul- 
chre; and yet he died a blind and miserable prisoner 
in the Castle of Cardiff, because he opposed himself to 
the will of the people, who chose that he should not rule 
over them. It is our right,” he said, “to choose from 
the blood royal the prince who is best qualified to hold 
the supreme power — that is,” said he, correcting him- 
self, “ him whose election will best promote the interests 
of the nobility. In personal qualifications,” he added, 
“ it was possible that Prince John might be inferior to 
his brother Richard; but when it was considered that 
the latter returned with the sword of vengeance in his 
hand, while the former held out rewards, immunities, 
privileges, wealth, and honours, it could not be doubted 
which was the king whom in wisdom the nobility were 
called on to support.” 

These, and many more arguments, some adapted to 
the peculiar circumstances of those whom he addressed, 
had the expected weight with the nobles of Prince 
John’s faction. Most of them consented to attend the 
proposed meeting at York, for the purpose of making 
general arrangements for placing the crown upon the 
head of Prince John. 


176 


IVANHOE 


It was late at night when, worn out and exhausted 
with his various exertions, however gratified with the 
result, Fitzurse, returning to the Castle of Ashby, met 
with De Bracy, who had exchanged his banqueting 
garments for a short green kirtle, with hose of the 
same cloth and colour, a leathern cap or head-piece, 
a short sword, a horn slung over his shoulder, a long- 
bow in his hand, and a bundle of arrows stuck in his 
belt. Had Fitzurse met this figure in an outer apart- 
ment, he would have passed him without notice, as one 
of the yeomen of the guard; but finding him in the 
inner hall, he looked at him with more attention, and 
recognized the Norman knight in the dress of an Eng- 
lish yeoman. 

“What mummery is this, De Bracy.?” said Fitzurse, 
somewhat angrily ; “ is this a time for Christmas gam- 
bols and quaint maskings, when the fate of our master. 
Prince John, is on the very verge of decision.? Why 
hast thou not been, like me, among these heartless 
cravens whom the very name of King Richard terrifies, 
as it is said to do the children of the Saracens .? ” 

“ I have been attending to mine own business,” an- 
swered De Bracy, calmly, “ as you, Fitzurse, have been 
minding yours.” 

“I minding mine own business!” echoed Waldemar; 
“I have been engaged in that of Prince John, our 
joint patron.” 

“As if thou hadst any other reason for that, Wal- 
demar,” said De Bracy, “than the promotion of thine 
own individual interest ! Come, Fitzurse, we know each 
other: ambition is thy pursuit, pleasure is mine, and 
they become our different ages. Of Prince John thou 
thinkest as I do — that he is too weak to be a deter- 
mined monarch, too tyrannical to be an easy monarch, 
too insolent and presumptuous to be a popular monarch, 
and too fickle and timid to be long a monarch of any 
kind. But he is a monarch by whom Fitzurse and De 


IVANHOE 


177 


Bracy hope to rise and thrive; and therefore you aid 
him with your policy, and I with the lances of my Free 
Companions.” 

“ A hopeful auxiliary,” said Fitzurse, impatiently, 
“ playing the fool in the very moment of utter necessity. 
What on earth dost thou purpose by this absurd dis- 
guise at a moment so urgent ” 

“To get me a wife,” answered De Bracy, coolly, 
“after the' manner of the tribe of Benjamin.” 

“The tribe of Benjamin!” said Fitzurse. “I com- 
prehend thee not.” 

“ Wert thou not in presence yestereven,” said De 
Bracy, “ when we heard the Prior Aymer tell us a tale 
in reply to the romance which was sung by the minstrel.^ 
lie told how, long since in Palestine, a deadly feud 
arose between the tribe of Benj amin and the rest of the 
Israelitish nation ; and how they cut to pieces wellnigh 
all the chivalry of that tribe; and how they swore by 
our blessed Lady that they would not permit those who 
remained to marry in their lineage; and how they 
became grieved for their vow, and sent tO' consult his 
holiness the Pope how they might be absolved from it ; 
and how, by the advice of the Holy Father, the youth 
of the tribe of Benjamin carried off from a superb 
tournament all the ladies who were there present, and 
thus won them wives without the consent either of their 
brides or their brides’ families.” 

“ I have heard the story,” said Fitzurse, “ though 
either the Prior or thou has made some singular altera- 
tions in date and circumstances.” 

“ I tell thee,” said De Bracy, “ that I mean to pur- 
vey me a wife after the fashion of the tribe of Ben- 
jamin; which is as much as to say, that in this same 
equipment I will fall upon that herd of Saxon bullocks 
who have this night left the castle, and carry off from 
them the lovely Rowena.” 

“Art thou mad, De Bracy.?” said Fitzurse. 

12 


178 


IVANHOE 


“ Bethink thee that, though the men be Saxons, they are 
rich and powerful, and regarded with the more respect 
by their countrymen that wealth and honour are but the 
lot of few of Saxon descent.” 

“ And should belong to none,” said De Bracy ; “ the 
work of the Conquest should be completed.” 

“ This is no time for it at least,” said Fitzurse; “ the 
approaching crisis renders the favour of the multitude 
indispensable, and Prince John cannot refuse justice 
to any one who injures their favourites.” 

“ Let him grant it if he dare,” said De Bracy ; “ he 
will soon see the difference betwixt the support of such 
a lusty lot of spears as mine and that of a heartless 
mob of Saxon churls. Yet I mean no immediate dis- 
covery of myself. Seem I not in this garb as bold a 
forester as ever blew hom.'^ The blame of the violence 
shall rest with the outlaws of the Yorkshire forests. 
I have sure spies on the Saxons’ motions. To-night 
they sleep in the convent of St. Wittol, or Withold, 
or whatever they call that churl of a Saxon saint, 
at Burton-on-Trent. Next day’s march brings them 
•vvdthin our reach, and, falcon-ways, we sw^oop on them 
at once. Presently after I will appear in mine own 
shape, play the courteous knight, rescue the unfor- 
tunate and afflicted fair one from the hands of the rude 
ravishers, conduct her to Front-de-Boeuf ’s castle, or 
to Normandy, if it should be necessary, and produce 
her not again to her kindred until she be the bride and 
dame of Maurice De Bracy.” 

“ A marvellously sage plan,” said Fitzurse, “ and, 
as I think, not entirely of thine own device. Come, be 
frank, De Bracy, who aided thee in the invention and 
who is to assist in the execution.'^ for, as I think, thine 
own band lies as far off as York.” 

“ Marry, if thou must needs know,” said De Bracy, 
“ it was the Templar Brian de Bois-Guilbert that 
shaped out the enterprise, which the adventure of the 


IVANHOE 


179 


men of Benamin suggested to me. He is to aid me in 
the onslaught, and he and his followers will personate 
the outlaws, from whom my valorous arm is, after 
changing my garb, to rescue the lady.” 

“ By my halidome,” said Fitzurse, “ the plan was 
worthy of your united wusdom! and thy prudence, De 
Bracy, is most especially manifested in the project of 
leaving the lady in the hands of thy worthy confederate. 
Thou mayst, I think, succeed in taking her from her 
Saxon friends, but how thou wilt rescue her afterwards 
from the clutches of Bois-Guilbert seems considerably 
more doubtful. He is a falcon well accustomed to 
pounce on a partridge and to hold his prey fast.” 

“ He is a Templar,” said De Bracy, “ and cannot 
therefore rival me in my plan of wedding this heiress ; 
and to attempt aught dishonourable against the in- 
tended bride of De Bracy — By Heaven ! were he a 
wFole chapter of his order in his single person, he 
dared not do me such an injury!” 

“ Then, since nought that I can say,” said Fitzurse, 
“ will put this folly from thy imagination, for well I 
know the obstinacy of thy disposition, at least waste 
as little time as possible ; let not thy folly be lasting as 
well as untimely.” 

“ I tell thee,” answered De Bracy, that it will be 
the work of a few hours, and I shall be at York at the 
head of my daring and valorous fellows, as ready to 
support any bold design as thy policy can be to form 
one. But I hear my comrades assembling, and the 
steeds stamping and neighing in the outer court. Fare- 
well. I go, like a true knight, to win the smiles of 
beauty.” 

“Like a true knight!” repeated Fitzurse, looking 
after him; “like a fool, I should say, or like a child, 
who will leave the most serious and needful occupation 
to chase the down of the thistle that drives past him. 
But it is with such tools that I must work — and for 


180 


IVANHOE 


whose advantage? For that of a Prince as unwise as 
he is profligate, and as likely to be an ungrateful 
master as he has already proved a rebellious son and 
an unnatural brother. But he — he too is but one of 
the tools with which I labour ; and, proud as he is, 
should he presume to separate his interest from mine, 
this is a secret wliich he shall soon learn.” 

The meditations of the statesman were here inter- 
rupted by the voice of the Prince from an interior 
apartment calling out, “Noble Waldemar Fitzurse!” 
and, with bonnet doffed, the future Chancellor, for to 
such high preferment did the wily Norman aspire, 
hastened to receive the orders of the future sovereign. 


CHAPTER XVI 

Far in a wild, unknown to public view, 

From youth to age a reverend hermit grew; 

^ ■ The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell. 

His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well; 
f Remote from man, wdth God he pass’d his days, 

Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise. 

Pahnell. 

T he reader cannot have forgotten that the event 
of the tournament was decided by the exertions 
of an unknown knight, whom, on account of the 
passive and indifferent conduct which he had mani- 
fested on the former part of the day, the spectators 
had entitled Le Noir Faineant. This knight had left 
the field abruptly when the victory was achieved; and 
when he was called upon to receive the reward of his 
valour he was nowhere to be found. In the meantime, 
while summoned by heralds and by trumpets, the knight 
was holding his course northward, avoiding all fre- 
quented paths, and taking the shortest road through 
the woodlands. He paused for the night at a small 


IVANHOE 


181 


hostelry lying out of the ordinary route, where, how- 
ever, he obtained from a wandering minstrel news of 
the event of the tourney. 

On the next morning the knight departed early, with 
the intention of making a long journey; the condition 
of his horse, which he had carefully spared during the 
preceding morning, being such as enabled him to travel 
far without the necessity of much repose. Yet his pur- 
pose was baffled by the devious paths through which he 
rode, so that when evening closed upon him he only 
found himself on the frontiers of the West Riding of 
Yorkshire. By this time both horse and man required 
refreshment, and it became necessary, moreover, to 
look out for some place in which they might spend the 
night, which was now fast approaching. 

The place where the traveller found himself seemed 
unpropitious for obtaining either shelter or refresh- 
ment, and he was likely to be reduced to the usual 
expedient of knights errant, who, on such occasions, 
turned their horses to graze, and laid themselves down 
to meditate on their lady-mistress, with an oak-tree for 
a canopy. But the Black Knight either had no mistress 
to meditate upon, or, being as indifferent in love as he 
seemed to be in war, was not sufficiently occupied by 
passionate reflections upon her beauty and cruelty to 
be able to parry the effects of fatigue and hunger, and 
suffer love to act as a substitute for the solid comforts 
of a bed and supper. He felt dissatisfied, therefore, 
when, looking around, he found himself deeply involved 
in woods, through which indeed there were many open 
glades and some paths, but such as seemed only formed 
by the numerous herds of cattle which grazed in the 
forest, or by the animals of chase, and the hunters who 
made prey of them. 

The sun, by wliich the knight had chiefly directed his 
course, had now sunk behind the Derbyshire hills on 
his left, and every effort which he might take to pursue 


182 


IVANHOE 


his journey was as likely to lead him out of his road 
as to advance him on his route. After having in vain 
endeavoured to select the most beaten path, in hopes it 
might lead to the cottage of some herdsman or the 
silvan lodge of a forester, and having repeatedly found 
himself totally unable to determine on a choice, the 
knight resolved to trust to the sagacity of his horse, 
experience having on former occasions made him 
acquainted with the wonderful talent possessed by these 
animals for extricating themselves and their riders on 
such emergencies. 

The good steed, grievously fatigued with so long 
a day’s journey under a rider cased in mail, had no 
sooner found, by the slackened reins, that he was aban- 
doned to his own guidance, than he seemed to assume 
new strength and spirit; and whereas formerly he had 
scarce replied to the spur otherwise than by a groan, 
he now, as if proud of the confidence reposed in him, 
pricked up his ears, and assumed, of his own accord, 
a more lively motion. The path which the animal 
adopted rather turned off from the course pursued by 
the knight during the day ; but as the horse seemed 
confident in his choice, the rider abandoned himself to 
his discretion. 

He was justified by the event, for the footpath soon 
after appeared a little wider and more worn, and the 
tinkle of a small bell gave the knight to understand 
that he was in the vicinity of some chapel or hermitage. 

Accordingly, he soon reached an open plat of turf, 
on the opposite side of which a rock, rising abruptly 
from a gently sloping plain, offered its gray and 
weather-beaten front to the traveller. Ivy mantled its 
sides in some places, and in others oaks and holly bushes, 
whose roots found nourishment in the cliffs of the crag, 
waved over the precipices below, like the plumage of 
the warrior over his steel helmet, giving grace to that 
whose chief expression was terror. At the bottom of 


IVANHOE 


183 


the rock, and leaning, as it were, against it, was con- 
structed a rude hut, built chiefly of the trunks of trees 
felled in the neighbouring forest, and secured against 
the weather by having its crevices stuffed with moss 
mingled with clay. The stem of a young fir-tree lopped 
of its branches, with a piece of wood tied across near 
the top, was planted upright by the door, as a rude 
emblem of the holy cross. At a little distance on the 
right hand, a fountain of the purest water trickled out 
of the rock, and was received in a hollow stone, which 
labour had formed into a rustic basin. Escaping from 
thence, the stream murmured down the descent by a 
channel which its course had long worn, and so wan- 
dered through the little plain to lose itself in the 
neighbouring wood. 

Beside this fountain were the ruins of a very small 
chapel, of which the roof had partly fallen in. The 
building, when entire, had never been above sixteen feet 
long by twelve feet in breadth, and the roof, low in 
proportion, rested upon four concentric arches which 
sprung from the four corners of the building, each 
supported upon a short and heavy pillar. The ribs 
of two of these arches remained, though the roof had 
fallen down betwixt them ; over the others it remained 
entire. The entrance to this ancient place of devotion 
was under a very low round arch, ornamented by sev- 
eral courses of that zig-zag moulding, resembling 
sharks’ teeth, which appears so often in the more an- 
cient Saxon architecture. A belfry rose above the 
porch on four small pillars, within which hung the 
green and weather-beaten bell, the feeble sounds of 
which had been some time before heard by the Black 
Knight. 

The whole peaceful and quiet scene lay glimmering in 
twilight before the eyes of the traveller, giving him 
good assurance of lodging for the night ; since it was 
a special duty of those hermits who dwelt in the woods 


184 IVANHOE 

to exercise hospitality towards benighted or bewil- 
dered passengers. 

Accordingly, the knight took no time to consider 
minutely the particulars which we have detailed, but 
thanking St. Julian, the patron of travellers, who had 
sent him good harbourage, he leaped from his horse 
and assailed the door of the hermitage with the butt 
of his lance, in order to arouse attention and gain 
admittance. 

It was some time before he obtained any answer, and 
the reply, when made, was unpropitious. 

“ Pass on, whosoever thou art,” was the answer given 
by a deep hoarse voice from within the hut, “ and dis- 
turb not the servant of God and St. Dunstan in his 
evening devotions.” 

“Worthy father,” answered the knight, “here is a 
poor wanderer bewildered in these woods, who gives 
thee the opportunity of exercising thy charity and 
hospitality.” 

“ Good brother,” replied the inhabitant of the hermi- 
tage, “it has pleased Our Lady and St. Dunstan to 
destine me for the object of those virtues, instead of 
the exercise thereof. I have no provisions here which 
even a dog would share with me, and a horse of any 
tenderness of nurture would despise my couch; pass 
therefore on thy way, and God speed thee.” 

“ But how,” replied the knight, “ is it possible for 
me . to find my way through such a wood as this, when 
darkness is coming on.? I pray you, reverend father, 
as you are a Christian, to undo your door, and at least 
point out to me my road.” 

“And I pray you, good Christian brother,” replied 
the anchorite, “to disturb me no more. You have 
already interrupted one pater, two aves, and a credo, 
which I, miserable sinner that I am, should, according 
to my vow, have said before moonrise.” 

“The road — the road!” vociferated the knight; 


IVANHOE 185 

‘‘ give me directions for the road, if I am to expect no 
more from thee.” 

“ The road,” replied the hermit, “ is easy to hit. 
The path from the wood leads to a morass, and from 
thence to a ford, which, as the rains have abated, may 
now be passable. When thou hast crossed the ford, 
thou wilt take care of thy footing up the left bank, as 
it is somewhat precipitous, and the path, which hangs 
over the river, has lately, as I learn — for I seldom 
leave the duties of my chapel — given way in sundry 
places. Thou wilt then keep straight forward — ” 

“A broken path — a precipice — a ford — and a 
morass ! ” said the knight, interrupting him. “ Sir 
Hemiit, if you were the holiest that ever wore beard 
or told bead, you shall scarce prevail on me to hold this 
road to-night. I tell thee, that thou, who livest by the 
charity of the country — ill deserved, as I doubt it is 
— hast no right to refuse shelter to the wayfarer when 
in distress. Either open the door quickly, or, by the 
rood, I will beat it down and make entry for myself.” 

“Friend wayfarer,” replied the hei*mit, “be not im- 
portunate; if thou puttest me to use the carnal weapon 
ill mine own defence, it will be e’en the worse for 

you-” 

At this moment a distant noise of barking and growl- 
ing, which the traveller had for some time heard, be- 
came extremely loud and furious, and made the knight 
suppose that the hermit, alarmed by his threat of mak- 
ing forcible entry, had called the dogs, who made this 
clamour to aid him in his defence, out of some inner 
recess in which they had been kennelled. Incensed at 
this preparation on the hermit’s part for making good 
his inhospitable purpose, the knight struck the door so 
furiously with his foot that posts as well as staples 
shook with violence. 

The anchorite, not caring again to expose his door 
to a similar shock, now called out aloud, “Patience — 


186 


IVANHOE 


patience ; spare thy strength, good traveller, and I will 
presently undo the door, though, it may be, my doing 
so will be little to thy pleasure.” 

The door accordingly was opened ; and the hermit, 
a large, strong-built man, in his sackcloth gown and 
hood, girt with a rope of rushes, stood before the 
knight. He had in one hand a lighted torch, or link, 
and in the other a baton of crab-tree, so thick and heavy 
that it might well be termed a club. Two large shaggy 
dogs, half greyhound, half mastiff, stood ready to rush 
upon the traveller as soon as the door should be opened. 
But when the torch glanced upon the lofty crest and 
golden spurs of the knight who stood without, the 
hermit, altering probably his original intentions, re- 
pressed the rage of his auxiliaries, and, changing his 
tone to a sort of churlish courtesy, invited the knight 
to enter his hut, making excuse for his unwillingness to 
open his lodge after sunset, by alleging the multitude 
of robbers and outlaws who were abroad, and who gave 
no honour to Our Lady or St. Dunstan, nor to those 
holy men who spent life in their service. 

“The poverty of your cell, good father,” said the 
knight, looking around him, and seeing nothing but 
a bed of leaves, a crucifix rudely carved in oak, a missal, 
with a rough-hewn table and two stools, and one or two 
clumsy articles of furniture — “the poverty of your 
cell should seem a sufficient defence against any risk 
of thieves, not to mention the aid of two trusty dogs, 
large and strong enough, I think, to pull down a stag, 
and, of course, to match with most men.” 

“ The good keeper of the forest,” said the hermit, 
“hath allowed me the use of these animals to protect 
my solitude until the times shall mend.” 

Having said this, he fixed his torch in a twisted 
branch of iron which served for a candlestick ; and 
placing the oaken trivet before the embers of the fire, 
which he refreshed with some dry wood, he placed a 


rVANHOE 187 

stool upon one side of the table, and beckoned to the 
knight to do the same upon the other. 

They sat down, and gazed with great gravity at 
each other, each thinking in his heart that he had sel- 
dom seen a stronger or more athletic figure than was 
placed opposite to him. 

“ Reverend hermit,” said the knight, after looking 
long and fixedly at his host, “ were it not to interrupt 
your devout meditations, I would pray to know three 
things of your holiness ; first, where 1 am to put my 
horse secondly, what I can have for supper thirdly, 
where I am to take up my couch for the night ? ” 

“ I will reply to you,” said the hermit, “ with my 
finger, it being against my rule to speak by words where 
signs can answer the purpose.” So saying, he pointed 
successively to two corners of the hut. “ Your stable,” 
said he, “ is there ; your bed there ; and,” reaching down 
a platter with two handfuls of parched pease upon it 
from the neighbouring shelf, and placing it upon the 
table, he added, “your supper is here.” 

The knight shrugged his shoulders, and leaving the 
hut, brought in his horse, which in the interim he had 
fastened to a tree, unsaddled him with much attention, 
and spread upon the steed’s weary back his own mantle. 

The hermit was apparently somewhat moved to com- 
passion by the anxiety as well as address which the 
stranger displayed in tending his horse ; for, muttering 
something about provender left for the keeper’s pal- 
frey, he dragged out of a recess a bundle of forage, 
which he spread before the knight’s charger, and im- 
mediately afterwards shook down a quantity of dried 
fern in the corner which he had assigned for the rider’s 
couch. The knight returned him thanks for his 
courtesy ; and, this duty done, both resumed their seats 
by the table, whereon stood the trencher of pease placed 
between them. The hermit, after a long grace, which 
had once been Latin, but of which original language 


188 


IVANHOE 


few traces remained, excepting here and there the long 
rolling termination of some word or phrase, set exam- 
ple to his guest by modestly putting into a very large 
mouth, furnished with teeth which might have ranked 
with those of a boar both in sharpness and whiteness, 
some three or four dried pease, a miserable grist, as it 
seemed, for so large and able a mill. 

The knight, in order to follow so laudable an exam- 
ple, laid aside his helmet, his corslet, and the greater 
part of his annour, and showed to the hermit a head 
thick-curled with yellow hair, high features, blue eyes, 
remarkably bright and sparkling, a mouth well formed, 
having an upper lip clothed with moustaches darker 
than his hair, and bearing altogether the look of a bold, 
daring, and enterprising man, with which his strong 
form well corresponded. 

The hermit, as if wishing to answer to the confidence 
of his guest, threw back his cowl, and showed a round 
bullet head belonging to a man in the prime of life. His 
close-shaven crown, surrounded by a circle of stiff 
curled black hair, had something the appearance of a 
parish pinfold begirt by its liigh hedge. The features 
expressed nothing of monastic austerity or of ascetic 
privations ; on the contrary, it was a bold bluff coun- 
tenance, with broad black eyebrows, a well-turned fore- 
head, and cheeks as round and vermilion as those of 
a trumpeter, from which descended a long and curly 
black beard. Such a visage, joined to the brawny form 
of the holy man, spoke rather of sirloins and haunches 
than of pease and pulse. This incongruity did not 
escape the guest. After he had with great difficulty 
accomplished the mastication of a mouthful of the dried 
pease, he found it absolutely necessary to request his 
pious entertainer to furnish him with some liquor ; who 
replied to his request by placing before him a large can 
of the purest water from the fountain. 

“ It is from the well of St. Dunstan,” said he, “ in 


IVANHOE 


189 


which, betwixt sun and sun, he baptized five hundred 
heathen Danes and Britons — blessed be his name!” 
And applying his black beard to the pitcher, he took a 
draught much more moderate in quantity than his en- 
comium seemed to warrant. 

‘‘ It seems to me, reverend father,” said the knight, 
Hhat the small morsels which you eat, together with 
this holy but somewhat thin beverage, have thriven with 
you marvellously. You appear a man more fit to win 
the ram at a wrestling-match, or the ring at a bout at 
quarter-staff, or the bucklers at a sword-play, than to 
linger out your time in this desolate wilderness, saying 
masses, and living upon parched pease and cold water.” 

“ Sir Knight,” answered the hermit, “ your thoughts, 
like those of the ignorant laity, are according to the 
fiesh. It has pleased Our Lady and my patron saint 
to bless the pittance to which I restrain myself, even as 
the pulse and water were blessed to the children Shad- 
rach, Meshech, and Abednego, who drank the same 
rather than defile themselves with the wine and meats 
which were appointed them by the King of the 
Saracens.” 

“ Holy father,” said the knight, “ upon whose coun- 
tenance it hath pleased Heaven to work such a miracle, 
permit a sinful layman to crave thy name.?*” 

“Thou mayst call me,” answered the hermit, “the 
Clerk of Copmanhurst, for so I am termed in these 
parts. They add, it is true, the epithet holy, but I 
stand not upon that, as being unworthy of such addi- 
tion. And now, valiant knight, may I pray ye for the 
name of my honourable guest?” 

“ Truly,” said the knight, “ Holy Clerk of Copman- 
hurst, men call me in these parts the Black Knight; 
many, sir, add to it the epithet of Sluggard, whereby 
I am no way ambitious to be distinguished.” 

The hermit could scarcely forbear from smiling at his 
guest’s reply. 


190 


IVANHOE 


“ I see,” said he, “ Sir Sluggish Knight, that thou 
art a man of prudence and of counsel ; and, moreover, 
I see that my poor monastic fare likes thee not, accus- 
tomed, perhaps, as thou hast been to the license of 
courts and camps, and the luxuries of cities ; and now 
I bethink me. Sir Sluggard, that when the charitable 
keeper of this forest-walk left these dogs for my pro- 
tection, and also those bundles of forage, he left me also 
some food, which, being unfit for my use, the very recol- 
lection of it had escaped me amid my more weighty 
meditations.” 

“ I dare be sworn he did so,” said the knight ; “ I was 
convinced that there was better food in the cell. Holy 
Clerk, since you first doffed your cowl. Your keeper is 
ever a jovial fellow; and none who beheld thy grinders 
contending with these pease, and thy throat flooded with 
this ungenial element, could see thee doomed to such 
horse-provender and horse-beverage (pointing to the 
provisions upon the table), and refrain from mending 
thy cheer. Let us see the keeper’s bounty, therefore, 
without delay.” 

The hermit cast a wistful look upon the knight, in 
which there was a sort of comic expression of hesita- 
tion, as if uncertain how far he should act prudently in 
trusting his guest. There was, however, as much of 
bold frankness in the knight’s countenance as was pos- 
sible to be expressed by features. His smile, too, had' 
something in it irresistibly comic, and gave an assur- 
ance of faith and loyalty, with which his host could not 
refrain from sympathizing. 

After exchanging a mute glance or two, the hermit 
went to the further side of the hut, and opened a hutch, 
which was concealed wdth great care and some ingenu- 
ity. Out of the recesses of a dark closet, into which 
this aperture gave admittance, he brought a large 
pasty, baked in a pewter platter of unusual dimensions. 
This mighty dish he placed before his guest, who, using 


IVANHOE 


191 


his poniard to cut it open, lost no time in making him- 
self acquainted with its contents. 

“ How long is it since the good keeper has been 
here.f^” said the knight to his host, after having swal- 
lowed several hasty morsels of this reinforcement to the 
hermit’s good cheer. 

“ About two months,” answered the father, hastily. 

“ By the true Lord,” answered the knight, “ every- 
thing in your hermitage is miraculous. Holy Clerk ! for 
I would have been sworn that the fat buck which fur- 
nished this venison had been running on foot within the 
week.” 

The hermit was somewhat discountenanced by this 
observation ; and, moreover, he had made but a poor 
figure while gazing on the diminution of the pasty, on 
which his guest was making desperate inroads — a war- 
fare in which his previous profession of abstinence left 
him no pretext for joining. 

“ I have been in Palestine, Sir Clerk,” said the knight, 
stopping short of a sudden, “ and I bethink me it is a 
custom there that every host who entertains a guest 
shall assure him of the wholesomeness of his food by 
partaking of it along with him. Far be it from me to 
suspect so holy a man of aught inhospitable ; neverthe- 
less, I will be highly bound to you would you comply 
with this Eastern custom.” 

“To ease your unnecessary scruples. Sir Knight, I 
will for once depart from my rule,” replied the hermit. 
And as there were no forks in those days, his clutches 
were instantly in the bowels of the pasty. 

The ice of ceremony being once broken, it seemed 
matter of rivalry between the guest and the entertainer 
which should display the best appetite; and although 
the former had probably fasted longest, yet the hermit 
fairly surpassed him. 

“ Holy Clerk,” said the knight, when his hunger was 
appeased, “ I would gage my good horse yonder against 


192 


IVANHOE 


a zecchin, that that same honest keeper to whom we are 
obliged for the venison has left thee a stoup of wine, or 
a runlet of canary, or some such trifle, by way of ally 
to this noble pasty. This would be a circumstance, 
doubtless, totally unworthy to dwell in the memory of 
so rigid an anchorite ; yet, I think, were you to search 
yonder crypt once more, you would find that I am right 
in my conjecture.” 

The hermit replied by a grin ; and returning to the 
hutch, he produced a leathern bottle, which might con- 
tain about four quarts. He also brought forth two 
large drinking cups, made out of the horn of the urns 
and hooped with silver. Having made this goodly pro- 
vision for washing down the supper, he seemed to think 
no further ceremonious scruples necessary on his part; 
but filling both cups, and saying, in the Saxon fashion, 
“ Waes hael, Sir Sluggish Knight ! ” he emptied his own 
at a draught. 

Drinc hael, Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst ! ” an- 
swered the warrior, and did his host reason in a simi- 
lar brimmer. 

“ Holy Clerk,” said the stranger, after the first cup 
was thus swallowed, “ I cannot but marvel that a man 
possessed of such thews and sinews as thine, and who 
therewithal shows the talent of so goodly a trencherman, 
should think of abiding by himself in this wilderness. 
In my judgment, you are fitter to keep a castle or a 
fort, eating of the fat and drinking of the strong, than 
to live here upon pulse and water, or even upon the 
charity of the keeper. At least, were I as thou, I should 
find myself both disport and plenty out of the king’s 
deer. There is many a goodly herd in these forests, 
and a buck will never be missed that goes to the use of 
St. Dunstan’s chaplain.” 

“ Sir Sluggish Knight,” replied the Clerk, “ these 
are dangerous words, and I pray you to forbear them. 
I am true hermit to the king and law, and were I to 


IVANHOE 


193 


spoil my liege’s game, I should be sure of the prison, 
and, an my gown saved me not, were in some peril of 
hanging.” 

“ Nevertheless, were I as thou,” said the knight, “ I 
would take my walk by moonlight, when foresters and 
keepers were warm in bed, and ever and anon — as I 
pattered my prayers — I would let fly a shaft among 
the herds of dun deer that feed in the glades. Resolve 
me. Holy Clerk, hast thou never practised such a 
pastime.^ ” 

“ Friend Sluggard,” answered the hermit, “ thou hast 
seen all that can concern thee of my housekeeping, and 
something more than he deserves who takes up his 
quarters by violence. Credit me, it is better to enjoy 
the good which God sends thee, than to be impertinently 
curious how it comes. Fill thy cup, and welcome; and 
do not, I pray thee, by further impertinent inquiries, 
put me to show that thou couldst hardly have made 
good thy lodging had I been earnest to oppose thee.” 

‘‘By my faith,” said the knight, “thou makest me 
more curious than ever ! Thou art the most mysterious 
hermit I ever met ; and I will know more of thee ere we 
part. As for thy threats, know, holy man, thou speak- 
est tO' one whose trade it is to find out danger w'herever 
it is to be met with.” 

“ Sir Sluggish Knight, I drink to thee,” said the 
hermit, “ respecting thy valour much, but deeming won- 
drous slightly of thy discretion. If thou wdlt take equal 
arms with me, I will give thee, in all friendship and 
brotherly love, such sufficing penance and complete ab- 
solution that thou shalt not for the next twelve months 
sin the sin of excess and curiosity.” 

The knight pledged him, and desired him to name his 
weapons. 

“There is none,” replied the hermit, “ from the scis- 
sors of Delilah and the tenpenny nail of Jael to the 
scimitar of Goliath, at wffiich I am not a match for thee. 

13 


194 


IVANHOE 


But, if I am to make the election, what sayest thou, 
good friend, to these trinkets ? ” 

Thus speaking, he opened another hutch, and took 
out from it a couple of broadswords and bucklers, such 
as were used by the yeomanry of the period. The 
knight, who watched his motions, observed that this 
second place of concealment was furnished with two 
or three good long-bows, a cross-bow, a bundle of bolts 
for the latter, and half a dozen sheaves of arrows for 
the former. A harp, and other matters of very un- 
canonical appearance, were also visible when this dark 
recess was opened. 

“ I promise thee, brother Clerk,” said he, “ I will ask 
thee no more offensive questions. The contents of that 
cupboard are an answer to all my inquiries ; and I see 
a weapon there (here he stooped and took out the harp) 
on which I would more gladly prove my skill wdth thee 
than at the sw’ord and buckler.” 

“ I hope. Sir Knight,” said the hermit, “ thou hast 
given no good reason for thy surname of the Sluggard. 
I do promise thee, I suspect thee grievously. Never- 
theless, thou art my guest, and I will not put thy man- 
hood to the proof without thine own free will. Sit thee 
down, then, and fill thy cup; let us drink, sing, and be 
merry. If thou knowest ever a good lay, thou shalt 
be welcome to a nook of pasty at Copmanhurst so long 
as I serve the chapel of St. Dunstan, which, please God, 
shall be till I change my gray covering for one of green 
turf. But come, fill a flagon, for it will crave some time 
to tune the harp; and nought pitches the voice and 
sharpens the ear like a cup of Avine. For my part, I 
love to feel the grape at my very finger-ends before they 
make the harp-strings tinkle.” 


IVANHOE 


195 


CHAPTER XVII 


At eve, within yon studious nook, 

I ope my brass-embossed book, 

Portray’d with many a holy deed 
Of martyrs crown’d with heavenly meed; 
Then as my taper waxes dim. 

Chant, ere I sleep, my measured hynm. 

Who but would cast his pomp away, 

To take my staff and amice gray. 

And to the world’s tumultuous stage. 
Prefer the peaceful Hermitage ? 


Warton. 



OTWITHSTANDING the prescription of the 


genial hermit, with which his guest willingly 


^ complied, he found it nO' easy matter to bring 
the harp to harmony. 

“Methinks, holy father,” said he, “the instrument 
wants one string, and the rest have been somewhat 
misused.” 

“ Ay, mark’st thou that? ” replied the hermit ; “ that 
shows thee a master of the craft. Wine and wassail,” 
he added, gravely casting up his eyes — “all the fault 
of wine and wassail ! I told Allan-a-Dale, the northern 
minstrel, that he would damage the harp if he touched 
it after the seventh cup, but he would not be controlled. 
Friend, I drink to thy successful performance.” 

So saying, he took off his cup with much gravity, at 
the same time shaking his head at the intemperance of 
the Scottish harper. 

The knight, in the meantime, had brought the strings 
into some order, and after a short prelude, asked his 
host whether he would choose a sirvente in the language 
of oc, or a lai in the language of ou% or a virelai, or a 
ballad in the vulgar English. 

“ A ballad — a ballad,” said the hermit, “ against all 
the ocs and ouis of France. Downright English am I, 


196 


IVANHOE 


Sir Knight, and downright English was my patron St. 
Dunstan, and scorned oc and out, as he would have 
scorned the parings of the devil’s hoof ; downright 
English alone shall be sung in this cell.” 

“ I will assay, then,” said the knight, “ a ballad com- 
posed by a Saxon gleeman, whom I knew in Holy Land.” 

It speedily appeared that, if the knight was not a 
complete master of the minstrel art, his taste for it 
had at least been cultivated under the best instructors. 
Art had taught him to soften the faults of a voice which 
had little compass, and was naturally rough rather than 
mellow, and, in short, had done all that culture can do 
in supplying natural deficiencies. His performance, 
therefore, might have been termed very respectable by 
abler judges than the hermit, especially as the knight 
threw into the notes now a degree of spirit, and now of 
plaintive enthusiasm, which gave force and energy to 
the verses which he sung. 


THE CRUSADER’S RETURN 

High deeds achieved of knightly fame. 
From Palestine the champion came; 

The cross upon his shoulders borne 
Battle and blast had dimm’d and tom. 
Each dint upon his batter’d shield 
"Was token of a foughten field ; 

And thus, beneath his lady’s lx)wer. 

He sung, as fell the twilight hoiu*; — 

“Joy to the fair! — thy knight behold, 
Return’d from yonder land of gold. 

No wealth he brings, nor wealm can need 
Save his good arms and battle-steed. 

His spm-s, to dash against a foe. 

His lance and sword to lay him low; 

Such all the trophies of his toil. 

Such — and the hope of Tekla’s smile! 

“Joy to the fair! whose constant knight 
Her favour fired to feats of might; 
Unnoted shall she not remain. 

Where meet the bright and noble train; 


IVANHOE 


197 


Minstrel shall sing and herald tell — 

‘ Mark yonder maid of beauty well, 

’ T is she for whose bright eyes was won 
The hsted field at Askalon! 

“ ‘Note well her smile! it edged the blade 
Which fifty wives to widows made. 

When, vain his strength and Mahound’s spell, 
Iconium’s turban’d soldan fell. 

Seest thou her locks, whose sunny glow 
Half shows, half shades, her neck of snow? 

Twines not of them one golden thread. 

But for its sake a Paynim bled.’ 

“ Joy to the fair! — my name unkno^vn, 

Each deed and ail its praise thine own; 

Then, oh! unbar this chm-lish gate. 

The night dew falls, the hour is late. 

Inured to Syria’s glowing breath, 

I feel the north breeze chill as death; 

Let grateful love quell maiden shame. 

And grant him bliss who brings thee fame.” 

During this performance, the hermit demeaned him- 
self much like a first-rate critic of the present day at a 
new opera. He reclined back upon his seat with his 
eyes half shut: now folding his hands and twisting his 
thumbs, he seemed absorbed in attention, and anon, 
balancing his expanded palms, he gently flourished 
them in time to the music. At one or two favourite 
cadences he threw in a little assistance of his own, where 
the knight’s voice seemed unable to carry the air so 
high as his worshipful taste approved. When the song 
was ended, the anchorite emphatically declared it a 
good one, and well sung. 

“ And yet,” said he, “ I think my Saxon countrymen 
had herded long enough with the Normans to fall into 
the tone of their jnelancholy ditties. What took the 
honest knight from home.^ or what could he expect but 
to find his mistress agreeably engaged with a rival on 
his return, and his serenade, as they call it, as little 
regarded as the caterwauling of a cat in the gutter 
Nevertheless, Sir Knight, I drink this cup to thee, to 


108 


IVANHOE . 


the success of all true lovers. I fear you are none,” he 
added, on observing that the knight, whose brain began 
to be heated with these repeated draughts, qualified his 
fiagon with the water pitcher. 

“ Why,” said the knight, “ did you not tell me that 
this water was from the well of your blessed patron, 
St. Dunstan ? ” 

“ Ay, truly,” said the hermit, “ and many a hundred 
of pagans did he baptize there, but I never heard that 
he drank any of it. Everything should be put to its 
proper use in this world. St. Dunstan knew, as well 
as any one, the prerogatives of a jovial friar.” 

And so saying, he reached the harp, and entertained 
his guest with the following characteristic song, to a 
sort of derry-down chorus, appropriate to an old Eng- 
lish ditty: — 


THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR 

I’ll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain. 

To search Europe through, from Byzantium to Spain; 
But ne’er shall you find, should you search till you tire, 
So hajjpy a man as the Barefooted Friar. 


Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career, 

And is brought home at evensong prick’d through with a spear; 
I confess him in haste — for his lady desires 
No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar’s. 

Your monarch! Pshaw! many a prince has been known 
To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown; 

But which of us e’er felt the idle desire 
To exchange for a crown the gray hood of a Friar! 

The Friar has walk’d out, and where’er he has gone. 

The land and its fatness is mark’d for his own; 

He can roam where he lists, he can stop when he tires. 

For every man’s house is the Barefooted Friar’s. 

He’s expected at noon, and no wight till he comes 
IMay profane the great chair, or the jKjrridge of plums; 

For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire. 

Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar. 


IVANHOE 


199 


He’s expected at night, and the pasty’s made hot. 

They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black pot. 

And the goodwife would wish the goodman in the mire. 

Ere he lack’d a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar. 

Long flomish the sandal, the cord, and the cope, 

The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope; 

For to gather life’s roses, unscathed by the briar. 

Is granted alone to tlie Barefooted Friar. 

‘‘ By my troth,” said the knight, “ thou hast sung 
well and lustily, and in high praise of thine order. And, 
talking of the devil. Holy Clerk, are you not afraid he 
may pay you a visit during some of your uncanonical 
pastimes ? ” 

“ I uncanonical ! ” answered the hermit ; “ I scorn the 
charge — I scorn it with my heels ! I serve the duty 
of my chapel duly and truly. Two masses daily, morn- 
ing and evening, primes, noons, and vespers, aves, 
credos, 'paters — ” 

“ Excepting moonlight nights, when the venison is 
in season,” said his guest. 

Exceptis excipiendis,’’ replied the hermit, “as our 
old abbot taught me to say, when impertinent laymen 
should ask me if I kept every punctilio of mine order.” 

“True, holy father,” said the knight; “but the devil 
is apt to keep an eye on such exceptions ; he goes about, 
thou knowest, like a roaring lion.” 

“Let him roar here if he dares,” said the Friar; 
“ a touch of my cord will make him roar as loud as the 
tongs of St. Dunstan himself did. I never feared man, 
and I as little fear the devil and his imps. St. Dunstan, 
St. Dubric, St. Winibald, St. Winifred, St. Swibert, 
St. Willick, not forgetting St. Thomas a Kent and my 
own poor merits to speed, — I defy every devil of them, 
come cut and long tail. But to let you into a secret, 
I never speak upon such subjects, my friend, until after 
morning vespers.” 

He changed the conversation : fast and furious grew 


200 


IVANHOE 


the mirth of the parties, and many a song was ex- 
changed betwixt them, when their revels were inter- 
rupted by a loud knocking at the door of the hermitage. 

The occasion of this interruption we can only explain 
by resuming the adventures of another set of our char- 
acters ; for, like old Ariosto, we do not pique ourselves 
upon continuing uniformly to keep company with any 
one personage of our drama. 


CHAPTER XVIII 

Away! our journey lies through dell and dingle, 

Where the blithe fawn trips by its timid mother. 

Where the broad oak, with intercepting boughs. 

Chequers the sunbeam in the greensward alley — ■ 

Up and away! for lovely paths are these 
To tread, when the glad Sun is on his throne; 

Less pleasant, and less safe, when Cynthia’s lamp 
With doubtful glimmer lights the dreary forest. 

Ettrich Forest. 

W HEN Cedric the Saxon saw his son drop 
down senseless in the lists at Ashby, his first 
impulse was to order him into the custody 
and care of his own attendants ; but the words choked 
in his throat. He could not bring himself to acknowl- 
edge, in presence of such an assembly, the son whom 
he had renounced and disinherited. He ordered, how- 
ever, Oswald to keep an eye upon him ; and directed 
that officer, with two of his serfs, to convey Ivanhoe to 
Ashby as soon as the crowd had dispersed. Oswald, 
however, was anticipated in this good office. The crowd 
dispersed, indeed, but the knight was nowhere to be 
seen. 

It was in vain that Cedric’s cupbearer looked around 
for his young master : he saw the bloody spot on which 
he had lately sunk down, but himself he saw r.o longer ; 


IVANHOE 


201 


it seemed as if the fairies had conveyed him from the 
spot. Perhaps Oswald — for the Saxons were very 
superstitious — might have adopted some such hypothe- 
sis to account for Ivanhoe’s disappearance, had he not 
suddenly cast his eye upon a person attired like a squire, 
in whom he recognised the features of his fellow-servant 
Gurth. Anxious concerning his master’s fate, and in 
despair at his sudden disappearance, the translated 
swineherd was searching for him everywhere, and had 
neglected, in doing so, the concealment on which his 
own safety depended. Oswald deemed it his duty to 
secure Gurth, as a fugitive of whose fate his master 
was to judge. 

Renewing his inquiries concerning the fate of Ivan- 
hoe, the only information which the cupbearer could 
collect from the bystanders was, that the knight had 
been raised with care by certain well-attired grooms, 
and placed in a litter belonging to a lady among the 
spectators, which had immediately transported him out 
of the press. Oswald, on receiving this intelligence, 
resolved to return to his master for further instruc- 
tions, carrying along with him Gurth, whom he con- 
sidered in some sort as a deserter from the service of 
Cedric. 

The Saxon had been under very intense and agoniz- 
ing apprehensions concerning his son, for Nature had 
asserted her rights, in spite of the patriotic stoicism 
which laboured to disown her. But no sooner was he 
informed that Ivanhoe was in careful, and probably in 
friendly, hands than the paternal anxiety, which had 
been excited by the dubiety of his fate, gave way anew 
to the feeling of injured pride and resentment at what 
he termed Wilfred’s filial disobedience. ‘‘ Let him wan- 
der his way,” said he ; ‘‘ let those leech his wounds for 
whose sake he encountered them. He is fitter to do the 
juggling tricks of the Norman chivalry than to main- 
tain the fame and honour of his English ancestry with 


202 IVxVNHOE 

the glaive and brown-bill, the good old weapons of the 
country.” 

“ If to maintain the honour of ancestry,” said 
Rowena, who was present, “it is sufficient to be wise 
in council and brave in execution, to be boldest among 
the bold, and gentlest among the gentle, I know no 
voice,, safe his father’s — ” 

“Be silent. Lady Rowena! on this subject only I 
hear you not. Prepare yourself for the Prince’s fes- 
tival: we have been summoned thither with unwonted 
circumstance of honour and of courtesy, such as the 
haughty Normans have rarely used to our race since the 
fatal day of Hastings. Thither will I go, were it only 
to show these proud Normans how little the fate of a son 
who could defeat their bravest can affect a Saxon.” 

“ Thither,” said Rowena, “ do I not go ; and I pray 
you to beware, lest what you mean for courage and 
obstinacy shall be accounted hardness of heart.” 

“Remain at home then, ungrateful lady,” answered 
Cedric; “thine is the hard heart, which can sacrifice 
the weal of an oppressed people to an idle and unauthor- 
ized attachment. I seek the noble Athelstane, and with 
him attend the banquet of John of Anjou.” 

He went accordingly to the banquet, of which we 
have already mentioned the principal events. Imme- 
diately upon retiring from the castle, the Saxon thanes, 
with their attendants, took horse; and it was during 
the bustle which attended their doing so that Cedric for 
the first time cast his eyes upon the deserter Gurth. 
The noble Saxon had returned from the banquet, as we 
have seen, in no very placid humour, and wanted but 
a pretext for wreaking his anger upon some one. “ The 
gyves ! ” he said — “ the gyves ! Oswald — Hundebert ! 
Hogs and villains I why leave ye the knave unfettered ? ” 
Without daring to remonstrate, the companions of 
Gurth bound him with a halter, as the readiest cord 
which occurred. He submitted to the operation without 


IVAXHOE 


203 


remonstrance, except that, darting a reproachful look 
at his master, he said, “ This comes of loving your 
flesh and blood better than mine own.” 

“To horse, and forward!” said Cedric. 

“ It is indeed full time,” said the noble Athelstane ; 
“ for, if we ride not the faster, the worthy Abbot Wal- 
theoff’s preparations for a rere-supper will be alto- 
gether spoiled.” 

The travellers, however, used such speed as to reach 
the convent of St. Withold’s before the apprehended evil 
took place. The Abbot, himself of ancient Saxon de- 
scent, received the noble Saxons with the profuse and 
exuberant hospitality of their nation, wherein they in- 
dulged to a late, or rather an early, hour ; nor did they 
take leave of their reverend host the next morning until 
they had shared with. him a sumptuous refection. 

As the cavalcade left the court of the monastery, an 
incident happened somewhat alanning to the Saxons, 
who, of all people of Europe, were most addicted to a 
superstitious observance of omens, and to whose opin- 
ions can be traced most of those notions upon such sub- 
jects 'still to be found among our popular antiquities. 
For the Normans being a mixed race, and better in- 
formed according to the information of the times, had 
lost most of the superstitious prejudices which their 
ancestors had brought from Scandinavia, and piqued 
themselves upon thinking freely on such topics. 

In the present instance, the apprehension of impend- 
ing evil was inspired by no less respectable a prophet 
than a large lean black dog, which, sitting upright, 
howled most piteously as the foremost riders left the 
gate, and presently afterwards, barking wildly, and 
jumping to and fro, seemed bent upon attaching itself 
to the party. 

“I like not that music, father Cedric,” said Athel- 
stane; for by this title of respect he was accustomed 
to address him. 


^04 


IVANHOE 


‘‘ Nor I either, uncle,” said Wamba ; “ I greatly fear 
we shall have to pay the piper.” 

“ In my mind,” said Athelstane, upon whose memory 
the Abbot’s good ale — for Burton was already famous 
for that genial liquor — had made a favourable impres- 
sion — “ in my mind we had better turn back and abide 
with the Abbot until the afternoon. It is unlucky to 
travel where your path is crossed by a monk, a hare, 
or a howling dog, until you have eaten your next meal.” 

‘‘ Away ! ” said Cedric, impatiently ; “ the day is 
already too short for our journey. For the dog, I 
know it to be the cur of the runaway slave Gurth, a 
useless fugitive like its master.” 

So saying, and rising at the same time in his stir- 
rups, impatient at the interruption of his journey, he 
launched his javelin at poor Fangs; for Fangs it was, 
who, having traced his master thus far upon his stolen 
expedition, had here lost him, and was now, in his un- 
couth way, rejoicing at his reappearance. The javelin 
inflicted a wound upon the animal’s shoulder, and nar- 
rowly missed pinning him to the earth; and Fangs 
fled howling from the presence of the enraged thane. 
Gurth’s heart swelled within him ; for he felt this medi- 
tated slaughter of his faithful adherent in a degree 
much deeper than the harsh treatment he had himself 
received. Having in vain attempted to raise his hand 
to his eyes, he said to Wamba, who, seeing his master’s 
ill-humour, had prudently retreated to the rear, “ I 
pray thee, do me the kindness to wipe my eyes with the 
skirt of thy mantle; the dust offends me, and these 
bonds will not let me help myself one way or another.” 

Wamba did him the service he required, and they 
rode side by side for some time, during which Gurth 
maintained a moody silence. At length he could re- 
press his feelings no longer. 

“Friend Wamba,” said he, “of all those who are 
fools enough to serve Cedric, thou alone hast dexterity 


IVANHOE 


205 


enough to make thy folly acceptable to him. Go to 
him, therefore, and tell him that neither for love nor 
fear will Gurth serve him longer. He may strike the 
head from me, he may scourge me, he may load me with 
irons, but henceforth he shall never compel me either 
to love or to obey him. Go to him, then, and tell him 
that Gurth the son of Beowulph renounces his service.” 

‘‘Assuredly,” said Wamba, “fool as I am, I shall 
not do your fool’s errand. Cedric hath another j avelin 
stuck into his girdle, and thou knowest he does not 
always miss his mark.” 

“ I care not,” replied Gurth, “ how soon he makes a 
mark of me. Yesterday he left Wilfred, my young 
master, in his blood. To-day he has striven to kill be- 
fore my face the only other living creature that ever 
showed me kindness. By St. Edmund, St. Dunstan, 
St. Withold, St. Edward the Confessor, and every other 
Saxon saint in the calendar (for Cedric never swore 
by any that was not of Saxon lineage, and all his 
household had the same limited devotion), I will never 
forgive him ! ” 

“ To my thinking now,” said the Jester, who was fre- 
quently wont to act as peacemaker in the family, “ our 
master, did not propose to hurt Fangs, but only to 
affright him. For, if you observed, he rose in his stir- 
rups, as thereby meaning to overcast the mark; and 
so he would have done, but Fangs happening to bound 
up at the very moment, received a scratch, which I will 
be bound to heal with a penny’s breadth of tar.” 

“If I thought so,” said Gurth — “if I could but 
think so; but no, I saw the javelin was well aimed; I 
heard it whizz through the air with all the wrathful 
malevolence of him who cast it, and it quivered after 
it had pitched in the ground, as if with regret for hav- 
ing missed its mark. By the hog dear to St. Anthony, 

I renounce him ! ” 

And the indignant swineherd resumed his sullen 


206 IVANHOE 

silence, which no efforts of the Jester could again in- 
duce him to break. 

[Meanwhile Cedric and Athelstane, the leaders of the 
troop, conversed together on the state of the land, on 
the dissensions of the royal family, on the feuds and 
quarrels among the Norman nobles, and on the chance 
which there was that the oppressed Saxons might be 
able to free themselves from the yoke of the Normans, 
or at least to elevate themselves into national conse- 
quence and independence, during the civil convulsions 
which were likely to ensue. On this subject Cedric was 
all animation. The restoration of the independence of 
his race was the idol of his heart, to which he had will- 
ingly sacrificed domestic happiness and the interests of 
his son. But, in order to achieve this great revolution 
in favour of the native English, it was necessary that 
they should be united among themselves, and act under 
an acknowledged head. The necessity of choosing their 
chief from the Saxon blood-royal was not only evident 
in itself, but had been made a solemn condition by those 
whom Cedric had entrusted with his secret plans and 
hopes. Athelstane had this quality at least; and 
though he had few mental accomplishments or talents 
to recommend him as a leader, he had still a goodly 
person, was no coward, had been accustomed to martial 
exercises, and seemed willing to defer to the advice of 
counsellors more wise than himself. Above all, he was 
known to be liberal and hospitable, and believed to be 
good-natured. But whatever pretensions Athelstane 
had to be considered as head of the Saxon confederacy, 
many of that nation were disposed to prefer to his the 
title of the Lady Rowena, who drew her descent from 
Alfred, and whose father having been a chief renowned 
for wisdom, courage, and generosity, his memory was 
highly honoured by his oppressed countrymen. 

It would have been no difficult thing for Cedric, had 
he been so disposed, to have placed himself at tlie head 


IVANHOE 


207 


of a third party, as formidable at least as any of the 
others. To counterbalance their royal descent, he had 
courage, activity, energy, and, above all, that devoted 
attachment to the cause which had procured him the 
epithet of The Saxon, and his birth was inferior to 
none, excepting only that of Athelstane and his ward. 
These qualities, however, were unalloyed by the slight- 
est shade of selfishness ; and, instead of dividing yet 
further his weakened nation by forming a faction of 
his own, it was a leading part of Cedric’s plan to ex- 
tinguish that which already existed by promoting a 
marriage betwixt Rowena and Athelstane. An obstacle 
occurred to this his favourite project in the mutual 
attachment of his ward and his son ; and hence the 
original cause of the banishment of Wilfred from the 
house of his father. 

This stem measure Cedric had adopted in hopes that, 
during Wilfred’s absence, Rowena might relinquish her 
preference; but in this hope he was disappointed — a 
disappointment wliich might be attributed in part to 
the mode in which his ward had been educated. Cedric, 
to whom the name of Alfred was as that of a deity, had 
treated the sole remaining scion of that great monarch 
with a degree of observance such as, perhaps, was in 
those days scarce paid to an acknowledged princess. 
Rowena’s will had been in almost all cases a law to his 
household; and Cedric himself, as if deteraiined that 
her sovereignty should be fully acknowledged within 
that little circle at least, seemed to take a pride in act- 
ing as the first of her subjects. Thus trained in the 
exercise not only of free will but despotic authority, 
Rowena was, by her previous education, disposed both 
to resist and to resent any attempt to control her affec- 
tions, or dispose of her hand contrary to her inclina- 
tions, and to assert her independence in a case in which 
even those females who have been trained up to obedi- 
ence and subjection are not infrequently apt to dispute 


208 


IVANHOE 


the authority of guardians and parents. The opinions 
which she felt strongly she avowed boldly ; and Cedric, 
who could not free himself from his habitual deference 
to her opinions, felt totally at a loss how to enforce 
his authority of guardian. 

It was in vain that he attempted to dazzle her with 
the prospect of a visionary throne. Rowena, who pos- 
sessed strong sense, neither considered his plan as prac- 
ticable nor as desirable, so far as she was concerned, 
could it have been achieved. Without attempting to 
conceal her avowed preference of Wilfred of Ivanhoe, 
she declared that, were that favoured knight out of 
question, she would rather take refuge in a convent 
than share a throne with Athelstane, whom, having 
always despised, she now began, on account of the 
trouble she received on his account, thoroughly to 
detest. 

Nevertheless, Cedric, whose opinion of women’s con- 
stancy was far from strong, persisted in using every 
means in his power to bring about the proposed match, 
in which he conceived he was rendering an important 
service to the Saxon cause. The sudden and romantic 
appearance of his son in the lists at Ashby he had 
justly regarded as almost a death’s blow to his hopes. 
His paternal affection, it is true, had for an instant 
gained the victory over pride and patriotism ; but both 
had returned in full force, and under their joint opera- 
tion he was now bent upon making a determined effort 
for the union of Athelstane and Rowena, together with 
expediting those other measures which seemed necessary 
to forward the restoration of Saxon independence. 

On this last subject he was now labouring with Athel- 
stane, not without having reason, every now and then, 
to lament, like Hotspur, that he should have moved such 
a dish of skimmed milk to so honourable an action. 
Athelstane, it is true, was vain enough, and loved to 
have his ears tickled with tales of his high descent, and 


IVANHOE 


209 


of his right by inheritance to homage and sovereignty. 
But his petty vanity was sufficiently gratified by re- 
ceiving this homage at the hands of his immediate at- 
tendants and of the Saxons who approached him. If 
he had the courage to encounter danger, he at least 
hated the trouble of going to seek it; and while he 
agreed in the general principles laid down by Cedric 
concerning the claim of the Saxons to independence, 
and was still more easily convinced of his own title to 
reign over them when that independence should be at- 
tained, yet when the means of asserting these rights 
came to be discussed, he was still Athelstane the Un- 
ready — slow, irresolute, procrastinating, and unenter- 
prising. The warm and impassioned exhortations of 
Cedric had as little effect upon his impassive temper 
as red-hot balls alighting in the water, which produce a 
little sound and smoke, and are instantly extinguished. 

If, leaving this task, which might be compared to 
spurring a tired jade, or to hammering upon cold iron, 
Cedric fell back to his ward Rowena, he received little 
more satisfaction from conferring with her. For, as 
his presence interrupted the discourse between the lady 
and her favourite attendant upon the gallantry and 
fate of Wilfred, Elgitha failed not to revenge both her 
mistress and herself by recurring to the overthrow of 
Athelstane in the lists, the most disagreeable subject 
which could greet the ears of Cedric. To this sturdy 
Saxon, therefore, the day’s journey was fraught with 
all manner of displeasure and discomfort; so that he 
more than once internally cursed the tournament, and 
him who had proclaimed it, together with his own folly 
in ever thinking of going thither. 

At noon, upon the motion of Athelstane, the travel- 
lers paused in a woodland shade by a fountain, to re- 
pose their horses and partake of some provisions, with 
which the hospitable Abbot had loaded a sumpter mule. 
Their repast was a pretty long one ; and these several 
14 


210 


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interruptions rendered it impossible for them to hope 
to reach Rotherwood without travelling all night, a 
conviction which induced them to proceed on their 
way at a more hasty pace than they had hitherto 
used. 


CHAPTER XIX 


A train of armed men, some noble dame 
Escorting (so their scatter’d words discover’d. 

As unperceived I hung upon their rear). 

Are close at hand, and mean to pass the night 
Within the castle. 

Orra, a Tragedy, 

T he travellers had now reached the verge of the 
wooded country, and were about to plunge into 
its recesses, held dangerous at that time from 
the number of outlaws whom oppression and poverty 
had driven to despair, and who occupied the forests in 
such large bands as could easily bid defiance to the 
feeble police of the period. From these rovers, how- 
ever, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, Cedric 
and Athelstane accounted themselves secure, as they had 
in attendance ten servants, besides Wamba and Gurth, 
whose aid could not be counted upon, the one being a 
jester and the other a captive. It may be added, that 
in travelling thus late through the forest, Cedric and 
Athelstane relied on their descent and character as well 
as their courage. The outlaws, whom the severity of 
the forest laws had reduced to this roving and desper- 
ate mode of life, were chiefly peasants and yeomen of 
Saxon descent, and were generally supposed to respect 
the persons and property of their countrymen. 

As the travellers journeyed on their way, they were 
alarmed by repeated cries for assistance; and when 


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211 


they rode up to the place from whence they came, they 
were surprised to find a horse-litter placed upon the 
ground, beside which sat a young woman, richly dressed 
in the Jewish fashion, while an old man, whose yellow 
cap proclaimed him to belong to the same nation, 
walked up and dowm with gestures of the deepest de- 
spair, and waning, his hands as if affected by some 
strange disaster. 

To the inquiries of Athelstane and Cedric, the old 
Jew could for some time only answer by invoking the 
protection of all the patriarchs of the Old Testament 
successively against the sons of Ishmael, who were com- 
ing to smite them, hip and thigh, with the edge of the 
sword. When he began to come to himself out of this 
agony of terror, Isaac of York (for it was our old 
friend) was at length able to explain that he had hired 
a body-guard of six men at Ashby, together with mules 
for carrying the litter of a sick friend. This party 
had undertaken to escort him as far as Doncaster. 
They had come thus far in safety ; but, having received 
information from a wood-cutter that there was a strong 
band of outlaws lying in wait in the woods before them, 
Isaac’s mercenaries had not only taken flight, but bad 
carried off with them the horses which bore the litter, 
and left the Jew and his daughter without the means 
either of defence or of retreat, to be plundered, and 
probably murdered, by the banditti, who they expected 
every moment would bring down upon them. “Would 
it but please your valours,” added Isaac, in a tone of 
deep humiliation, “to permit the poor Jews to travel 
under your safeguard, I swear by the tables of our 
Law that never has favour been conferred upon a child 
of Israel since the days of our captivity which shall be 
more gratefully acknowledged.” 

“ Dog of a Jew ! ” said Athelstane, whose memory 
was of that petty kind which stores up trifles of all 
kinds, but particularly trifling offences, “ dost not 


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remember how thou didst beard us in the gallery at the 
tilt-yard? Fight or flee, or compound with the outlaws 
as thou dost list, ask neither aid nor company from us ; 
and if they rob only such as thee, who rob all the world, 
I, for mine own share, shall hold them right honest 
folk.” 

Cedric did not assent to the severe proposal of his 
companion. “We shall do better,” said he, “to leave 
them two of our attendants and two horses to convey 
them back to the next village. It will diminish our 
strength but little; and with your good sword, noble 
Athelstane, and the aid of those who remain, it will be 
light work for us to face twenty of those runagates.” 

Rowena, somewhat alarmed by the mention of out- 
laws in force, and so near them, strongly seconded the 
proposal of her guardian. But Rebecca, suddenly 
quitting her dejected posture, and making her way 
through the attendants to the palfrey of the Saxon 
lady, knelt down, and, after the Oriental fashion in 
addressing superiors, kissed the hem of Rowena’s gar- 
ment. Then rising and throwing back her veil, she 
implored her in the great name of the God whom they 
both w'orshipped, and by that revelation of the Law 
upon Mount Sinai in which they both believed, that she 
would have compassion upon them, and suffer them to 
go forward under their safeguard. “ It is not for my- 
self that I pray this favour,” said Rebecca ; “ nor is 
it even for that poor old man. I know, that to wrong 
and to spoil our nation is a light fault, if not a merit, 
with the Christians ; and what is it to us whether it be 
done in the city, in the desert, or in the field? But it 
is in the name of one dear to many, and dear even to 
you, that I beseech you to let this sick person be trans- 
ported with care and tenderness under your protection. 
For, if evil chance him, the last moment of your life 
would be embittered with regret for denying that which 
I ask of you.” 


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213 


The noble and solemn air with which Rebecca made 
this appeal gave it double weight with the fair Saxon. 

“ The man is old and feeble,” she said to her guar- 
dian, “the maiden young and beautiful, their friend 
sick and in peril of his hfe; Jews though they be, we 
cannot as Christians leave them in this extremity. Let 
them unload two of the sumpter mules and put the 
baggage behind two of the serfs. The mules may trans- 
port the litter, and w'e have led horses for the old man 
and his daughter.” 

Cedric readily assented to what she proposed, and 
Athelstane only added the condition, “ That they should 
travel in the rear of the whole party, where Wamba,” 
he said, “might attend them with his shield of boar’s 
brawn.” 

“ I have left my shield in the tilt-yard,” answered the 
Jester, “ as has been the fate of many a better knight 
than myself.” 

Athelstane coloured deeply, for such had been his 
own fate on the last day of the tournament; while 
Rowena, who was pleased in the same proportion, as 
if to make amends for the brutal jest of her unfeeling 
suiter, requested Rebecca to ride by her side. 

“ It were not fit I should do so,” answered Rebecca, 
with proud humility, “ where my society might be held 
a disgrace to my protectress.” 

By this time the change of baggage was hastily 
achieved; for the single word “outlaws” rendered 
every one sufficiently alert, and the approach of twi- 
light made the sound yet more impressive. Amid the 
bustle, Gurth was taken from horseback, in the course 
of which removal he prevailed upon the Jester to slack 
the cord with which his arms were bound. It was so 
negligently refastened, perhaps intentionally, on the 
part of Wamba, that Gurth found no difficulty in free- 
ing his arms altogether from bondage, and then, glid- 
ing into the thicket, he made his escape from the party. 


214 


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The bustle had been considerable, and it was some 
time before Gurth was missed; for, as he was to be 
placed for the rest of the journey behind a servant, 
every one supposed that some other of his companions 
had him under his custody, and when it began to be 
whispered among them that Gurth had actually dis- 
appeared, they were under such immediate expectation 
of an attack from the outlaws that it was not held con- 
venient to pay much attention to the circumstance. 

The path upon which the party travelled was now so 
narrow as not to admit, with any sort of convenience, 
above two riders abreast, and began to descend into a 
dingle, traversed by a brook whose banks were broken, 
swampy, and overgrown with dwarf willows. Cedric 
and Athelstane, who were at the head of their retinue, 
saw the risk of being attacked at this pass ; but neither 
of them having had much practice in war, no better 
mode of preventing the danger occurred to them than 
that they should hasten through the defile as fast as 
possible. Advancing, therefore, without much order, 
they had just crossed the brook with a part of their 
followers, when they were assailed in front, flank, and 
rear at once, with an impetuosity to which, in their 
confused and ill-prepared condition, it was impossible 
to offer effectual resistance. The shout of “A white 
dragon ! — a white dragon ! St. George for merry 
England ! ” war-cries adopted by the assailants, as be- 
longing to their assumed character of Saxon outlaws, 
was heard on every side, and on every side enemies 
appeared with a rapidity of advance and attack which 
seemed to multiply their numbers. 

Both the Saxon chiefs were made prisoners at the 
same moment, and each under circumstances expressive 
of his character. Cedric, the instant an enemy ap- 
peared, launched at him his remaining javelin, which, 
taking better effect than that which he had hurled 
at Fangs, nailed the man against an oak-tree that 


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215 


happened to be close behind him. Thus far successful, 
Cedric spurred his horse against a second, drawing his 
sword at the same time, and striking with such incon- 
siderate fury that his weapon encountered a thick 
branch which hung over him, and he was disarmed by 
the violence of his own blow. He was instantly made 
prisoner, and pulled from his horse by two or three 
of the banditti who crowded around him. Athelstane 
shared his captivity, his bridle having been seized and 
he himself forcibly dismounted long before he could 
draw his weapon or assume any posture of effectual 
defence. 

The attendants, embarrassed with baggage, sur- 
prised and terrified at the fate of their master, fell 
an easy prey to the assailants ; while the Lady Rowena, 
in the centre of the cavalcade, and the Jew and his 
daughter in the rear, experienced the same misfortune. 

Of all the train none escaped except Wamba, who 
showed upon the occasion much more courage than 
those who pretended to greater sense. He possessed 
himself of a sword belonging to one of the domestics, 
who was just drawing it with a tardy and irresolute 
hand, laid it about him like a lion, drove back several 
who approached liim, and made a brave though in- 
effectual attempt to succour his master. Finding him- 
self overpowered, the Jester at length threw himself 
from his horse, plunged into the thicket, and, favoured 
by the general confusion, escaped from the scene of 
action. 

Yet the valiant Jester, as soon as he found himself 
safe, hesitated more than once whether he should not 
turn back and share the captivity of a master to whom 
he was sincerely attached. 

“ I have heard men talk of the blessings of freedom,’’ 
he said to himself, “but I wish any wise man would 
teach me what use to make of it now that I have it.” 

As lie pronounced these words aloud, a voice very 


216 


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near him called out in a low and cautious tone, 
“Wamba!” and at the same time a dog, which he rec- 
ognized to be Fangs, jumped up and fawned upon him. 
“Gurth!” answered Wamba with the same caution, 
and the swineherd immediately stood before him. 

“What is the matter.?” said he, eagerly; “what 
mean these cries and that clashing of swords ? ” 

“ Only a trick of the times,” said Wamba ; “ they are 
all prisoners.” 

“ Who are prisoners ? ” exclaimed Gurth, impatiently. 

“ My lord, and my lady, and Athelstane, and Hunde- 
bert, and Oswald.” 

“ In the name of God ! ” said Gurth, “ how came they 
prisoners ? and to whom ? ” 

“ Our master was too ready to fight,” said the Jester, 
“ and Athelstane was not ready enough, and no other 
person was ready at all. And they are prisoners to 
green cassocks and black visors. And they lie all 
tumbled about on the green, like the crab-apples that 
you shake down to your swine. And I would laugh at 
it,” said the honest Jester, “ if I could for weeping.” 
And he shed tears of unfeigned sorrow. 

Gurth’s countenance kindled. “Wamba,” he said, 
“ thou hast a weapon, and thy heart was ever stronger 
than thy brain ; we are only two, but a sudden attack 
from men of resolution will do much ; follow me ! ” 

“Whither.? and for what purpose.?” said the Jester. 

“ To rescue Cedric.” 

“ But you have renounced his service but now,” said 
Wamba. 

“That,” said Gurth, “was but while he was for- 
tunate; follow me!” 

As the Jester was about to obey, a third person sud- 
denly made his appearance and commanded them both 
to halt. From his dress and arms, Wamba would have 
conjectured him to be one of those outlaws who had just 
assailed his master ; but, besides that he wore no mask. 


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217 


the glittering baldric across his shoulder, with the rich 
bugle-horn which it supported, as well as the calm and 
commanding expression of his voice and manner, made 
him, notwithstanding the twilight, recognize Locksley, 
the yeoman who had been victorious, under such disad- 
vantageous circumstances, in the contest for the prize 
of archery. 

“ What is the meaning of all this,” said he, “ or who 
is it that rifle, and ransom, and make prisoners in these 
forests? ” 

“You may look at their cassocks close by,” said 
Wamba, “ and see whether they be thy children’s coats 
or no ; for they are as like thine own as one green pea- 
cod is to another.” 

“ I will learn that presently,” answered Locksley ; 
“ and I charge ye, on peril of your lives, not to stir 
from the place where ye stand, until I have returned. 
Obey me, and it shall be the better for you and your 
masters. Yet stay, I must render myself as like these 
men as possible.” 

So saying, he unbuckled his baldric with the bugle, 
took a feather from his cap, and gave them to Wamba ; 
then drew a vizard from his pouch, and repeating his 
charges to them to stand fast, went to execute his pur- 
poses of reconnoitring. 

“Shall we stand fast, Gurth?” said Wamba, “or 
shall we e’en give him leg-bail? In my foolish mind, 
he had all the equipage of a thief too much in readi- 
ness to be himself a true man.” 

“ Let him be the devil,” said Gurth, “ an he will. We 
can be no worse of waiting his return. If he belong 
to that party, he must already have given them the 
alarm, and it will avail nothing either to fight or to 
fly. Besides, I have late experience that arrant thieves 
are not the worse men in the world to have to deal 
with.” 

The yeoman returned in the course of a few minutes. 


218 


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“Friend Gurth,” he said, “I have mingled among 
yon men, and have learnt to whom they belong, and 
whither they are bound. There is, I think, no chance 
that they will proceed to any actual violence against 
their prisoners. For three men to attempt them at this 
moment were little else than madness ; for they are good 
men of war, and have, as such, placed sentinels to give 
the alarm when any one approaches. But I trust soon 
to gather such a force as may act in defiance of all their 
precautions. You are both servants, and, as I think, 
faithful servants, of Cedric the Saxon, the friend of the 
rights of Englishmen. He shall not want English 
hands to help him in this extremity. Come, then, with 
me, until I gather more aid.” 

So saying, he walked through the wood at a great 
pace, followed by the jester and the swineherd. It was 
not consistent with Wamba’s humour to travel long in 
silence. 

“ I think,” said he, looking at the baldric and bugle 
which he still carried, “ that I saw the arrow shot which 
won this gay prize, and that not so long since as 
Christmas.” 

“ And I,” said Gurth, “ could take it on my halidome 
that I have heard the voice of the good yeoman who won 
it, by night as well as by day, and that the moon is not 
three days older since I did so.” 

“Mine honest friends,” replied the yeoman, “who or 
what I am is little to the present purpose ; should I free 
your master, you will have reason to think me the best 
friend you have ever had in your lives. And whether 
I am known by one name or another, or whether I can 
draw a bow as well or better than a cow-keeper, or 
whether it is my pleasure to walk in sunshine or by 
moonlight, are matters which, as they do not concern 
you, so neither need ye busy yourselves respecting 
them.” 

“Our heads are in the lion’s mouth,” said Wamba, 


IVANHOE 


219 


in a whisper to Gurth, “ get them out how we 
can.” 

“Hush — be silent,” said Gurth. “Offend him not 
bj thy folly, and I trust sincerely that all will go 
well.” 


CHAPTER XX ^ 

When Autumn nights were long and drear. 

And forest walks were dark and dim. 

How sweetly on the pilgrim’s ear 

Was wont to steal the hermit’s hymn! 

Devotion borrows Music’s tone, 

And Music took Devotion’s wing; 

And, like the bird that hails the sun. 

They soar to heaven, and soaring sing. 

The Herinii of St. Clement* s Well. 

I T was after three hours’ good walking that the 
servants of Cedric, with their mysterious guide, ar- 
rived at a small opening in the forest, in the centre 
of which grew an oak-tree of enormous magnitude, 
throwing its twisted branches in every direction. Be- 
neath this tree four or five yeomen lay stretched on the 
ground, while another, as sentinel, walked to and fro 
in the moonlight shade. 

Upon hearing the sound of feet approaching, the 
watch instantly gave the alarm, and the sleepers as 
suddenly started up and bent their bows. Six arrows 
placed on the string were pointed towards the quarter 
from which the travellers approached, when their guide, 
being recognized, was welcomed with every token of re- 
spect and attachment, and all signs and fears of a 
rough reception at once subsided. 

“ Where is the Miller ? ” was his first question. 

“ On the road towards Rotherham.” 


220 


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“ With how many ? ” demanded the leader, for such 
he seemed to be. 

“ With six men, and good hope of booty, if it please 
St. Nicholas.” 

“ Devoutly spoken,” said Locksley ; “ and where is 
Allan-a-Dale.? ” 

“Walked up towards the Watling Street to watch 
for the Prior of Jorvaulx.” 

“ That is well thought on also,” replied the Captain ; 
“and where is the Friar 

“ In his cell.” 

“ Thither will I go,” said Locksley. “ Disperse and 
seek your companions. Collect what force you can, for 
there ’s game afoot that must be hunted hard, and will 
turn to bay. Meet me here by daybreak. And, stay,” 
he added, “ I have forgotten what is most necessary of 
the whole. Two of you take the road quickly towards 
Torquilstone, the castle of Front-de-Boeuf . A set of 
gallants, who have been masquerading in such guise 
as our own, are carrying a band of prisoners thither. 
Watch them closely, for even if they reach the castle 
before we collect our force, our honour is concerned to 
punish them, and we will find means to do so. Keep a 
close watch on them, therefore; and despatch one of 
your comrades, the lightest of foot, to bring the news 
of the yeomen thereabout.” 

They promised implicit obedience, and departed with 
alacrity on their different errands. In the meanwhile, 
their leader and his two companions, who now looked 
upon him with great respect, as well as some fear, pur- 
sued their way to the chapel of Copmanhurst. 

When they had reached the little moonlight glade, 
having in front the reverend though ruinous chapel and 
the rude hermitage, so well suited to ascetic devotion, 
Wamba whispered to Gurth, “If this be the habita- 
tion of a thief, it makes good the old proverb, “ The 
nearer the church the farther from God.” And by my 


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221 


cockscomb,” he added, “ I think it be even so. Hearken 
but to the black sanctus which they are singing in the 
hermitage ! ” 

In fact, the anchorite and his guest were performing, 
at the full extent of their very powerful lungs, an old 
drinking song, of which this was the burden : 

‘ ‘ Come, trowl the brown bowl to me, 

Bully boy, bully boy, 

Come, trowl the brown bowl to me. 

Ho! jolly Jenkin, I spy a knave in drinking. 

Come, trowl the brown bowl to me.” 

‘^Now, that is not ill sung,” said Wamba, who had 
thrown in a few of his own flourishes to help out the 
chorus. “ But who, in the saint’s name, ever expected 
to have heard such a jolly chant come from out a her- 
mit’s cell at midnight ! ” 

“Marry, that should I,” said Gurth, “for the jolly 
clerk of Copmanhurst is a known man, and kills half the 
deer that are stolen in this walk. Men say that the 
keeper has complained to his official, and that he will be 
stripped of his cowl and cope altogether if he keep not 
better order.” 

While they were thus speaking, Locksley’s loud and 
repeated knocks had at length disturbed the anchorite 
and his guests. “ By my beads,” said the hermit, 
stopping short in a grand flourish, “ here come more 
benighted guests. I would not for my cowl that they 
found us in this goodly exercise. All men have their 
enemies, good Sir Sluggard ; and there be those malig- 
nant enough to construe the hospitable refreshment 
which I have been offering to you, a weary traveller, 
for the matter of three short hours, into sheer drunken- 
ness and debauchery, vices alike alien to my profession 
and my disposition.” 

“ Base calumniators ! ” replied the knight ; “ I would 
I had the chastising of them. Nevertheless, Holy Clerk, 
it is true that all have their enemies ; and there be those 


222 


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in this very land whom I would rather speak to through 
the bars of my helmet than barefaced.” 

“ Get thine iron pot on thy head then, friend Slug- 
gard, as quickly as thy nature will permit,” said the 
hermit, “ while I remove these pewter flagons, whose 
late contents run strangely in mine own pate ; and to 
drown the clatter — for, in faith, I feel somewhat un- 
steady — strike into the tune which thou hearest me 
sing. It is no matter for the words ; I scarce know 
them myself.” 

So saying, he struck up a thundering De profundis 
clamavi, under cover of which he removed the appa- 
ratus of their banquet; while the knight, laughing 
heartily, and arming himself all the while, assisted his 
host with his voice from time to time as his mirth 
permitted. 

“What devil’s matins are you after at this hour.^^” 
said a voice from without. 

“ Heaven forgive you. Sir Traveller ! ” said the her- 
mit, whose own noise, and perhaps his nocturnal pota- 
tions, prevented from recognizing accents which were 
tolerably familiar to him. “Wend on your way, in the 
name of God and St. Dunstan, and disturb not the de- 
votions of me and my holy brother.” 

“Mad priest,” answered the voice from without, 
“ open to Locksley ! ” 

“All’s safe — all’s right,” said the hermit to his 
companion. 

“ But who is he ? ” said the Black Knight ; “ it im- 
ports me much to know.” 

“ Who is he ! ” answered the hermit ; “ I tell thee he 
is a friend.” 

“But what friend answered the knight; “for he 
may be friend to thee and none of mine.P” 

“ What friend ! ” replied the hermit ; “ that, now, is 
one of the questions that is more easily asked than an- 
swered. What friend! why, he is, now that I bethink 


IVANHOE '^'^23 

me a little, the very same honest keeper I told thee of 
a while since.” 

“ Ay, as honest a keeper as thou are a pious hermit,” 
replied the knight, “ I doubt it not. But undo the door 
to him before he beat it from its hinges.” 

The dogs, in the meantime, which had made a dread- 
ful baying at the commencement of the disturbance, 
seemed now to recognize the voice of him who stood 
without ; for, totally changing their manner, they 
scratched and whined at the door, as if interced- 
ing for his admission. The hermit speedily unbolted 
his portal, and admitted Locksley, with his two 
companions. 

“Why, hermit,” was the yeoman’s first question as 
soon as he beheld the knight, “what boon companion 
hast thou here ^ ” 

“ A brother of our order,” replied the Friar, shaking 
his head ; “ we have been at our orisons all night.” 

“ He is a monk of the church militant, I think,” an- 
swered Locksley ; “ and there be more of them abroad. 
I tell thee. Friar, thou must lay down the rosary and 
take up the quarter-staff ; we shall need every one of our 
merry men, whether clerk or layman. But,” he added, 
taking him a step aside, “art thou mad.'^ to give ad- 
mittance to a knight thou dost not know.? Hast thou 
forgot our articles.?” 

“Not know him!” replied the Friar, boldly, “I 
know him as well as the beggar knows his dish.” 

“ And what is his name, then .? ” demanded Locksley. 

“His name,” said the hermit — “his name is Sir 
Anthony of Scrabelstone ; as if I would drink with a 
man, and did not know his name I ” 

“ Thou hast been drinking more than enough. Friar,” 
said the woodsman, “ and, I fear, prating more than 
enough too.” 

“ Good yeoman,” said the knight, coming forward, 
“ be not wroth with my merry host. He did but afford 


224 


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me the hospitality which I would have compelled from 
him if he had refused it.” 

“Thou compel!” said the Friar; “wait but till I 
have changed this gray gown for a green cassock, and 
if I make not a quarter-staff ring twelve upon thy 
pate, I am neither true clerk nor good woodsman.” 

While he spoke thus, he stript off his gown, and ap- 
peared in a close black buckram doublet and drawers, 
over which he speedily donned a cassock of green and 
hose of the same colour. “ I pray thee, truss my 
points,” said he to Wamba, “ and thou shalt have a 
cup of sack for thy labour.” 

“Gramercy for thy sack,” said Wamba; “but 
think’st thou it is lawful for me to aid you to transmew 
thyself from a holy hermit into a sinful forester.? ” 

“Never fear,” said the hermit; “I will but confess 
the sins of my green cloak to my grayfriaFs frock, and 
all shall be well again.” 

“ Amen ! ” answered the Jester. “ A broadcloth peni- 
tent should have a sackcloth confessor, and your frock 
may absolve my motley doublet into the bargain.” 

So saying, he accommodated the Friar with his assist- 
ance in tying the endless number of points, as the laces 
which attached the hose to the doublet were then termed. 

While they were thus employed, Locksley led the 
knight a little apart, and addressed him thus : “ Deny 
it not. Sir Knight, you are he who decided the victory 
to the advantage of the English against the strangers 
on the second day of the tournament at Ashby.” 

“And what follows if you guess truly, good yeo- 
man.?” replied the knight. 

“ I should in that case hold you,” replied the yeoman, 
“ a friend to the weaker party.” 

“ Such is the duty of a true knight at least,” replied 
the Black Champion ; “ and I would not willingly that 
there were reason to think otherwise of me.” 

“ “But for my purpose,” said the yeoman, “thou 


IVANHOE 


£25 


shouldst be as well a good Englishman as a good 
knight; for that which I have to speak of concerns, 
indeed, the duty of every honest man, but is more espe- 
cially that of a true-born native of England.” 

“You can speak to no one,” replied the knight, “to 
whom England, and the life of every Englishman, 
can be dearer than to me.” 

“ I would willingly believe so,” said the woodsman, 
“ for never had this country such need to be supported 
by those who love her. Hear me, and I will tell thee 
of an enterprize in which, if thou be’st really which 
thou seemest, thou mayest take an honourable part. 
A band of villains, in the disguise of better men than 
themselves, have made themselves master of the person 
of a noble Englishman, called Cedric the Saxon, to- 
gether with his ward and his friend Athelstane of 
Coningsburgh, and have transported them to a castle 
in this forest called Torquilstone. I ask of thee, as a 
good knight and a good Englishman, wilt thou aid in 
their res cue. ^ ” 

“ I am bound by my vow to do so,” replied the 
knight ; “ but I would willingly know who you are, 
who request my assistance in their behalf.^” 

“ I am,” said the forester, “ a nameless man ; but I 
am the friend of my country, and of my country’s 
friends. With this account of me you must for the 
present remain satisfied, the more especially, since you 
yourself desire to continue unknown. Believe, however, 
that my word, when pledged, is as inviolate as if I 
wore golden spurs.” 

“ I willingly believe it,” said the knight ; “ I have 
been accustomed to study men’s countenances, and I can 
read in thine honesty and resolution. I will, therefore, 
ask thee no further questions, but aid thee in setting 
at freedom these oppressed captives ; which done, I 
trust we shall part better acquainted, and well satisfied 
with each other.” 


15 


226 


IVANHOE 


“So,” said Wamba to Gurth; for the Friar being 
now fully equipped, the Jester, having approaclied to 
the other side of the hut, had heard the conclusion of the 
conversation, “so we have got a new ally? I trust 
the valour of the knight will be truer metal than the 
religion of the hermit or the honesty of the yeoman ; 
for this Locksley looks like a born deer-stealer, and the 
priest like a lusty hypocrite.” 

“Hold thy peace, Wamba,” said Gurth; “it may 
all be as thou dost guess ; but were the horned devil to 
rise and proffer me his assistance to set at liberty 
Cedric and the Lady Rowena, I fear I should hardly 
have religion enough to refuse the foul fiend’s offer, and 
bid him get behind me.” 

The Friar was now completely accoutred as a yeo- 
man, with sword and buckler, bow and quiver, and a 
strong partizan over his shoulder. He left his cell at 
the head of the party, and, having carefully locked the 
door, deposited the key under the threshold. 

“Art thou in condition to do good service. Friar,” 
said Locksley, “ or does the brown bowl still run in thy 
head?” 

“ Not more than a draught of St. Dunstan’s fountain 
will allay,” answered the priest ; “ something there is of 
a whizzing in my brain, and of instability in my legs, 
but you shall presently see both pass away.” 

So saying, he stepped to the stone basin, in which 
the waters of the fountain as they fell formed bubbles 
which danced in the white moonlight, and took so long 
a draught as if he had meant to exhaust the spring. 

“ When didst thou drink as deep a draught of water 
before. Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst? ” said the Black 
Knight. 

“ Never since my wine butt leaked, and let out its 
liquor by an illegal vent,” replied the Friar, “ and 
so left me nothing to drink but my patron’s bounty 
here.” 


IVANHOE 


227 


Then plunging his hands and head into the fountain, 
he washed from them all marks of the midnight revel. 

Thus refreshed and sobered, the jolly priest twirled 
his heavy partizan round his head with three fingers, 
as if he had been balancing a reed, exclaiming at the 
same time, “Where be those false ravishers who carry 
off wenches against their will.? May the foul fiend 
fly off with me, if I am not man enough for a dozen of 
them.” 

“Swearest thou. Holy Clerk.?” said the Black 
Knight. 

“ Clerk me no clerks,” replied the transformed priest ; 
“by St. George and the Dragon, I am no longer a 
shaveling than while my frock is on my back. When I 
am cased in my green cassock, I will drink, swear, and 
woo a lass with any blithe forester in the West Riding.” 

“ Come on, J ack Priest,” said Locksley , “ and be 
silent; thou art as noisy as a whole convent on a holy 
eve, when the Father Abbot has gone to bed. Come on 
you, too, my masters, tarry not to talk of it — I say, 
come on ; we must collect all our forces, and few enough 
we shall have, if we are to storm the castle of Reginald 
Front-de-Boeuf.” 

“ What ! is it Front-de-Boeuf,” said the Black 
Knight, “who has stopt on the king’s highway the 
king’s liege subjects.? Is he turned thief and op- 
pressor.? ” 

“Oppressor he ever was,” said Locksley. 

“ And for thief,” said the priest, “ I doubt if ever he 
were even half so honest a man as many a thief of my 
acquaintance.” 

“Move on, priest, and be silent,” said the yeoman; 
“it were better you led the way to the place of ren- 
dezvous than say what should be left unsaid, both in 
decency and. prudence.” 


228 


IVANHOE 


CHAPTER XXI . 

Alas, how many hours and years have past, 

Since human forms have round this table sate, 

Or lamp, or taper, on its surface gleam’d! 

Methinks, I hear the sound of time long pass’d 
Still murmuring o’er us, in the lofty void 
Of these dark arches, like the ling’ring voices 
Of those who long within their graves have slept. 

Orra, a Tragedy. 

W HILE these measures were taking in be- 
half of Cedric and his companions, the armed 
men by whom the latter had been seized hur- 
ried their captives along towards the place of security 
where they intended to imprison them. But darkness 
came on fast, and the paths of the wood seemed but 
imperfectly known to the marauders. They were com- 
pelled to make several long halts, and once or twice to 
return on their road to resume the direction which 
they wished to pursue. The summer morn had dawned 
upon them ere they could travel in full assurance that 
they held the right path. But confidence returned with 
light, and the cavalcade now moved rapidly forward. 
Meanwhile, the following dialogue took place between 
the two leaders of the banditti: — 

“ It is time thou shouldst leave us. Sir Maurice,” 
said the Templar to De Bracy, “ in order to prepare the 
second part of thy mystery. Thou art next, thou 
knowest, to act the Knight Deliverer.” 

“ I have thought better of it,” said De Bracy ; “ I 
will not leave thee till the prize is fairly deposited in 
Front-de-Boeuf’s castle. There will I appear before the 
Lady Rowena in mine own shape, and trust that she will 
set down tO' the vehemence of my passion the violence of 
which I have been guilty.” 

“And what has made thee change thy plan, De 
Bracy ? ” replied the Knight Templar. 


IVANHOE 


229 


“ That concerns thee nothing,” answered his com- 
panion. 

“ I would hope, however. Sir Knight,” said the Tem- 
plar, “ that this alteration of measures arises from no 
suspicion of my honourable meaning, such as Fitzurse 
endeavoured to instil into thee.?” 

“ My thoughts are my own,” answered De Bracy ; 
‘‘the fiend laughs, they say, when one thief robs an- 
other ; and we know, that were he to spit fire and brim- 
stone instead, it would never prevent a Templar from 
following his bent.” 

“Or the leader of a Free Company,” answered the 
Templar, “ from dreading at the hands of a comrade 
and friend the injustice he does to all mankind.” 

“This is unprofitable and perilous recrimination,” 
answered De Bracy ; “ suffice it to say, I know the 
morals of the Temple Order, and I will not give thee 
the power of cheating me out of the fair prey for 
which I have run such risks.” 

“ Pshaw,” replied the Templar, “ what hast thou to 
fear.? Thou knowest the vows of our order.” 

“ Right well,” said De Bracy, “ and also how they 
are kept. Come, Sir Templar, the laws of gallantry 
have a liberal interpretation in Palestine, and this is a 
case in which I will trust nothing to your conscience.” 

“ Hear the truth, then,” said the Templar ; “ I care 
not for your blue-eyed beauty. There is in that train 
one who will make me a better mate.” 

“ What ! wouldst thou stoop to the waiting damsel ? ” 
said De Bracy. 

“ No, Sir Knight,” said the Templar, haughtily. 
“ To the waiting-woman will I not stoop. I have a prize 
among the captives as lovely as thine own.” 

“By the mass, thou meanest the fair Jewess!” said 
De Bracy. 

“ And if I do,” says Bois-Guilbei-t, “ who shall 
gainsay me.?” 


230 


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“No one that I know,” said De Bracy, “unless it be 
your vow of celibacy or a check of conscience for an 
intrigue with a Jewess.” 

“ For my vow,” said the Templar, “ our Grand Mas- 
ter hath granted me a dispensation. And for my con- 
science, a man that has slain three hundred Saracens 
need not reckon up every little failing, like a village 
girl at her first confession upon Good Friday eve.” 

“Thou knowest best thine own privileges,” said De 
Bracy. “Yet, I would have sworn thy thoughts had 
been more on the old usurer’s money-bags than on the 
black eyes of the daughter.” 

“ I can admire both,” answered the Templar ; “ be- 
sides, the old Jew is but half-prize. I must share his 
spoils with Front-de-Boeuf , who will not lend us the 
use of his castle for nothing. I must have something 
that I can term exclusively my own by this foray of 
ours, and I have fixed on the lovely Jewess as my 
peculiar prize. But, now thou knowest my drift, thou 
wilt resume thine own original plan, wilt thou not.f^ 
Thou hast nothing, thou seest, to fear from my inter- 
ference.” 

“ No,” replied De Bracy, “ I will remain beside my 
prize. What thou sayest is passing true, but I like 
not the privileges acquired by the dispensation of the 
Grand Master, and the merit acquired by the slaughter 
of three hundred Saracens. You have too good a right 
to a free pardon to render you very scrupulous about 
peccadilloes.” 

While this dialogue was proceeding, Cedric was en- 
deavouring to wring out of those who guarded him an 
avowal of their character and purpose. “You should be 
Englishmen,” said he ; “ and yet, sacred Heaven ! you 
prey upon your countrymen as if you were very Nor- 
mans. You should be my neighbours, and, if so, my 
friends; for which of my English neighbours have rea- 
son to be otherwise .f* I tell ye, yeomen, that even those 


IVANHOE 


231 . 


among ye who have been branded with outlawry have 
had from me protection ; for I have pitied their mise- 
ries, and curst the oppression of their tyrannic nobles. 
What, then, would you have of me? or in what can 
this violence serve ye? Ye are worse than brute beasts 
in your actions, and will you imitate them in their 
very dumbness ? ” 

It was in vain that Cedric expostulated with his 
guards, who had too many good reasons for their 
silence to be induced to break it either by his wrath or 
his expostulations. They continued to hurry him along, 
travelling at a very rapid rate, until, at the end of an 
avenue of huge trees, arose Torquilstone, now the 
hoary and ancient castle of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf. 
It was a fortress of no great size, consisting of a don- 
jon, or large and high square tower, surrounded by 
buildings of inferior height, which were encircled by an 
inner courtyard. Around the exterior wall was a deep 
moat, supplied with water from a neighbouring rivulet. 
Front-de-Bceuf , whose character placed him often at 
feud with his enemies, had made considerable additions 
to the strength of his castle, by building towers upon 
the outward wall, so as to flank it at every angle. The 
access, as usual in castles of the period, lay through an 
arched barbican, or outwork, which was terminated 
and defended by a small turret at each comer. 

Cedric no sooner saw the turrets of Front-de-Boeuf ’s 
castle raise their gray and moss-grown battlements, 
glimmering in the morning sun above the woods by 
which they were surrounded, than he instantly augured 
more truly concerning the cause of his misfortune. 

‘‘I did injustice,” he said, “to the thieves and out- 
laws of these woods, when I supposed such banditti to 
belong to their bands; I might as justly have con- 
founded the foxes of these brakes with the ravening 
wolves of France. Tell me, dogs, is it my life or my 
wealth that your master aims at? Is it too much that 


232 


IVANHOE 


two Saxons, myself and the noble Athelstane, should 
hold land in the country which was once the patrimony 
of our race? Put us, then, to death, and complete your 
tyranny by taking our lives, as you began with our 
liberties. If the Saxon Cedric cannot rescue England, 
he is willing to die for her. Tell your tyrannical mas- 
ter, I do only beseech him to dismiss the Lady Rowena 
in honour and safety. She is a woman, and he need not 
dread her; and with us will die all who dare fight in 
her cause.” 

The attendants remained as mute to this address as 
to the former, and they now stood before the gate of 
the castle. De Bracy winded his horn three times, 
and the archers and crossbow men, who had manned the 
wall upon seeing their approach, hastened to lower 
the drawbridge and admit them. The prisoners were 
compelled by their guards to alight, and were con- 
ducted to an apartment where a hasty repast was 
offered them, of which none but Athelstane felt any 
inclination to partake. Neither had the descendant of 
the Confessor much time to do justice to the good cheer 
placed before them, for their guards gave him and 
Cedric to understand that they were to be imprisoned 
in a chamber apart from Rowena. Resistance was 
vain ; and they were compelled to follow to a large 
room, which, rising on clumsy Saxon pillars, resembled 
those refectories and chapter-houses which may be 
still seen in the most ancient parts of our most ancient 
monasteries. 

The Lady Rowena was next separated from her 
train, and conducted, with courtesy, indeed, but still 
without consulting her inclination, to a distant apart- 
ment. The same alarming distinction was conferred 
on Rebecca, in spite of her father’s entreaties, who 
offered even money, in this extremity of distress, that 
she might be permitted to abide with him. “ Base un- 
believer,” answered one of his guards, “ when thou hast 


IVANHOE 


233 


seen thy lair, thou wilt not wish thy daughter to par- 
take it.” And, without further discussion, the old Jew 
was forcibly dragged off in a different direction from 
the other prisoners. The domestics, after being care- 
fully searched and disarmed, were confined in another 
part of the castle ; and Rowena was refused even the 
comfort she might have derived from the attendance 
of her handmaiden. Elgitha. 

The apartment in which the Saxon chiefs were 
confined, for to them we turn our first attention, al- 
though at present used as a sort of guard-room, had 
formerly been the great hall of the castle. It was now 
abandoned to meaner purposes, because the present 
lord, amdng other additions to the convenience, security, 
and beauty of his baronial residence, had erected a 
new and noble hall, whose vaulted roof was supported 
by lighter and more elegant pillars, and fitted up with 
that higher degree of ornament which the Normans 
had already introduced into architecture. 

Cedric paced the apartment, filled with indignant 
reflections on the past and on the present, while the 
apathy of his companion served, instead of patience 
and philosophy, to defend him against everything save 
the inconvenience of the present moment; and so little 
did he feel even this last, that he was only from time to 
time roused to a reply by Cedric’s animated and im- 
passioned appeal to him. 

“ Yes,” said Cedric, half speaking to himself and 
half addressing himself to Athelstane, “it was in this 
very hall that my father feasted with Torquil Wolf- 
ganger, when he entertained the valiant and unfortu- 
nate Harold, then advancing against the Norwegians, 
'who had united themselves to the rebel Tosti. It was in 
this hall that Harold returned the magnanimous an- 
swer to the ambassador of his rebel brother. Oft have 
I heard my father kindle as he told the tale. The 
envoy of Tosti was admitted, when this ample room 


IVANHOE 


234 

could scarce contain the crowd of noble Saxon leaders 
who were quaffing the blood-red wine around their 
monarch.” 

“ I hope,” said Athelstane, somewhat moved by this 
part of his friend’s discourse, “they will not forget to 
send us some wine and refections at noon : we had scarce 
a breathing-space allowed to break our fast, and I 
never have the benefit of my food when I eat immedi- 
ately after dismounting from horseback, though the 
leeches recommend that practice.” 

Cedric went on with his story without noticing this 
interjectional observation of his friend. 

“ The envoy of Tosti,” he said, “ moved up the hall, 
undismayed by the frowning countenances of all around 
him, until he made his obeisance before the throne of 
King Harold.” 

“ ‘ What terms,’ he said, ‘ Lord King, hath thy 
brother Tosti to hope, if he should lay down his arms 
and crave peace at thy hands ? ’ 

“ ‘ A brother’s love,’ cried the generous Harold, ‘ and 
the fair earldom of Northumberland.’ 

“ ‘ But should Tosti accept these terms,’ continued 
the envoy, ‘ what lands shall be assigned to his faith- 
ful ally, Hardrada, King of Norway 

“ ‘ Seven feet of English ground,’ answered Harold, 
fiercely, ‘ or, as Hardrada is said to be a giant, perhaps 
we may allow him twelve inches more.’ ” 

“ The hall rung with acclamations, and cup and horn 
was filled to the Norwegian, who should be speedily in 
possession of his English territory.” 

“ I could have pledged him with all my soul,” said 
Athelstane, “ for my tongue cleaves to my palate.” 

“ The baffled envoy,” continued Cedric, pursuing with 
animation his tale, though it interested not the listener, 
“ retreated, to carry Tosti and his ally the ominous 
answer of his injured brother. It was then that the 
distant towers of York and the bloody streams of the 


IVANHOE 


235 


Derwent beheld that direful conflict, in which, after 
displaying the most undaunted valour, the King of 
Norway and Tosti both fell, with ten thousand of their 
bravest followers. Who would have thought that, upon 
the proud day when this battle was won, the very gale 
which waved the Saxon banners in triumph was filling 
the Norman sails, and impelling them to the fatal 
shores of Sussex Who would have thought that 
Harold, within a few brief days, would himself possess 
no more of his kingdom than the share which he allotted 
in his wrath to the Norwegian invader? Who would 
have thought that you, noble Athelstane — that you, 
descended of Harold’s blood, and that I, whose father 
was not the worst defender of the Saxon crown, should 
be prisoners to a vile Norman, in the very hall in which 
our ancestors held such high festival?” 

“ It is sad enough,” replied Athelstane ; “ but I trust 
they will hold us to a moderate ransom. At any rate, it 
cannot be their purpose to starve us outright ; and yet, 
although it is high noon, I see no preparations for serv- 
ing dinner. Look up at the window, noble Cedric, and 
judge by the sunbean\s if it is not on the verge of noon.” 

“ It may be so,” answered Cedric ; ‘‘ but I cannot 
look on that stained lattice without its awakening other 
reflections than those which concern the passing moment 
or its privations. When that window was wrought, my 
noble friend, our hardy fathers knew not the art of 
making glass, or of staining it. The pride of Wolf- 
ganger’s father brought an artist from Normandy to 
adorn his hall with this new species of emblazonment, 
that breaks the golden light of God’s blessed day into so 
many fantastic hues. The foreigner came here poor, 
beggarly, cringing, and subservient, ready to doff his 
cap to the meanest native of the household. He re- 
turned pampered and proud to tell his rapacious 
countrymen of the wealth and the simplicity of the 
Saxon nobles — a folly, oh Athlestane! foreboded of 


236 


IVANHOE 


old, as well as foreseen by those descendants of Hengist 
and his hardy tribes who retained the simplicity of their 
manners. We made these strangers our bosom friends, 
our confidential servants ; we borrowed their artists 
and their arts, and despised the honest simplicity and 
hardihood with which our brave ancestors supported 
themselves ; and we became enervated by Norman arts 
long ere we fell under Norman arms. Far better was 
our homely diet, eaten in peace and liberty, than the 
luxurious dainties, the love of which hath delivered us 
as bondsmen to the foreign conqueror!” 

“ I should,” replied Athelstane, “ hold very humble 
diet a luxury at present ; and it astonishes me, noble 
Cedric, that you can bear so truly in mind the memory 
of past deeds, when it appeareth you forget the very 
hour of dinner.” 

“ It is time lost,” muttered Cedric apart and impa- 
tiently, “ to speak to him of aught else but that which 
concerns his appetite! The soul of Hardicanute hath 
taken possession of him, and he hath no pleasure save 
to fill, to swill, and to call for more. Alas ! ” said he, 
looking at Athelstane with compassion, “ that so dull 
a spirit should be lodged in so goodly a form ! Alas ! 
that such an enterprize as the regeneration of England 
should turn on a hinge sO' imperfect! Wedded to Row- 
ena, indeed, her noble and more generous soul may yet 
awake the better nature which is torpid within him. 
Yet how should this be, while Rowena, Athelstane, and 
I myself remain the prisoners of this brutal marauder, 
and have been made so perhaps from a sense of the 
dangers which our liberty might bring to the usurped 
power of his nation ? ” 

While the Saxon was plunged in these painful reflec- 
tions, the door of their prison opened and gave entrance 
to a seAver, holding his white rod of office. This impor- 
tant person advanced into the chamber Avith a grave 
pace, folloAved by four attendants, bearing in a table 


IVANHOE 


237 


covered with dishes, the sight and smell of which seemed 
to be an instant compensation to Athelstane for all the 
inconvenience he had undergone. The persons who 
attended on the feast were masked and cloaked. 

“ What mummery is this ? ” said Cedric ; “ think you 
that we are ignorant whose prisoners we are, when we 
are in the castle of your master.?^ Tell him,” he con- 
tinued, willing to use this opportunity to open a nego- 
tiation for his freedom — “tell your master, Reginald 
Front-de-Boeuf , that we know no reason he can have for 
withholding our liberty, excepting his unlawful desire 
to enrich himself at our expense. Tell him that we 
yield to his rapacity, as in similar circumstances we 
should do to that of a literal robber. Let him name 
the ransom at which he rates our liberty, and it shall 
be paid, providing the exaction is suited to our means.” 

The sewer made no answer, but bowed his head. 

“And tell Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” said Athel- 
stane, “ that I send him my mortal defiance, and chal- 
lenge him to combat with me, on foot or horseback, at 
any secure place, within eight days after our liberation ; 
which, if he be a true knight, he will not, under these 
circumstances, venture to refuse or to delay.” 

“ I shall deliver to the knight your defiance,” an- 
swered the sewer; “meanwhile I leave you to your 
food.” 

The challenge of Athelstane was delivered with no 
good grace ; for a large mouthful, which required the 
exercise of both jaws at once, added to a natural hesi- 
tation, considerablj'^ damped the effect of the bold de- 
fiance it contained. Still, however, his speech was 
hailed by Cedric as an incontestable token of reviving 
spirit in his companion, whose previous indifference 
had begun, notwithstanding his respect for Athelstane’s 
descent, to wear out his patience. But he now cordially 
shook hands with him in token of his approbation, and 
was somewhat grieved when Athelstane observed, “ That 


238 


IVANHOE 


he would fight a dozen such men as Front-de-Boeuf, if 
bj so doing he could hasten his departure from a dun- 
geon where they put so much garlic into their pottage.” 
Notwithstanding this intimation of a relapse into the 
apathy of sensuality, Cedric placed himself opposite 
to Athelstane, and soon showed that, if the distresses 
of his country could banish the recollection of food 
w’hile the table was uncovered, yet no sooner were the 
victuals put there than he proved that the appetitie of 
his Saxon ancestors had descended to him along with 
their other qualities. 

The captives had not long enjoyed their refresh- 
ment, however, ere their attention was disturbed even 
from this most serious occupation by the blast of a 
horn winded before the gate. It was repeated three 
times, with as much violence as if it had been blown 
before an enchanted castle by the destined knight at 
whose summons halls and towers, barbican and battle- 
ment, were to roll off like a morning vapour. The 
Saxons started from the table and hastened to the 
window. But their curiosity was disappointed; for 
these outlets only looked upon the court of the castle, 
and the sound came from beyond its precincts. The 
summons, however, seemed of importance, for a con- 
siderable degree of bustle instantly took place in the 
castle. 


IVANHOE 


239 


CHAPTER XXII 

My daughter! O my ducats! O my daughter! 

. . . O my Christian ducats! 

Justice — the Law — my ducats and my daughter! 

Merchant of Venice. 

1 EAVING the Saxon chiefs to return to their ban- 
. quet as soon as their ungratified curiosity 
should permit them to attend to the calls of 
their half-satiated appetite, we have to look in upon 
the yet more severe imprisonment of Isaac of York. 
The poor Jew had been hastily thrown into a dungeon- 
vault of the castle, the floor of which was deep beneath 
the level of the ground, and very damp, being lower 
than even the moat itself. The only light was received 
through one or two loopholes far above the reach of the 
captive’s hand. These apertures admitted, even at mid- 
day, only a dim and uncertain light, which was changed 
for utter darkness long before the rest of the castle had 
lost the blessing of day. Chains and shackles, which 
had been the portion of former captives, from whom 
active exertions to escape had been apprehended, hung 
rusted and empty on the walls of the prison, and in the 
rings of one of those sets of fetters there remained two 
mouldering bones, which seemed to have been once those 
of a human leg, as if the prisoner had been left not 
only to perish there, but to be consumed to a skeleton. 

At one end of this ghastly apartment was a large 
fire-grate, over the top of which were stretched some 
transverse iron bars, half-devoured with rust. 

The whole appearance of the dungeon might have 
appalled a stouter heart than that of Isaac, who, 
nevertheless, was more composed under the imminent 
pressure of danger than he had seemed to be while 
affected by terrors of which the cause was as yet remote 


240 


IVANHOE 


and contingent. The lovers of the chase saj that the 
hare feels more agony during the pursuit of the grey- 
hounds than when she is struggling in their fangs. 
And thus it is probable that the Jews, by the very fre- 
quency of their fear on all occasions, had their minds 
in some degree prepared for every effort of tyranny 
which' could be practised upon them ; so that nO' ag- 
gression, v/hen it had taken place, could bring with it 
that surprise which is the most disabling quality of 
terror. Neither was it the first time that Isaac had 
been placed in circumstances so dangerous.^ He had 
therefore experience to guide him, as well as hope that 
he might again, as formerly, be delivered as a prey 
from the fowler. Above all, he had upon his side the 
unyielding obstinacy of his nation, and that unbending 
resolution with which Israelites have been frequently 
known to submit to the uttermost evils which power and 
violence can inflict upon them, rather than gratify their 
oppressors by granting their demands. 

In this humour of passive resistance, and with his 
garment collected beneath him to keep his limbs fronl 
the wet pavement, Isaac sat in a comer of his dungeon, 
where his folded hands, his dishevelled hair and beard, 
his furred cloak and high cap, seen by the wiry and 
broken light, would have afforded a study for Rem- 
brandt, had that celebrated painter existed at the 
period. The Jew remained without altering his posi- 
tion for nearly three hours, at the expiry of which steps 
were heard on the dungeon stair. The bolts screamed as 
they were withdrawn, the hinges creaked as the wicket 
opened, and Reginald Front-de-Boeuf , followed by the 
two Saracen slaves of the Templar, entered the prison. 

Front-de-Boeuf, a tall and strong man, whose life 
had been spent in public war or in private feuds and 
broils, and wdio had hesitated at no means of extending 
his feudal power, had features corresponding to his 
character, and which strongly expressed the fiercer and 


IVANHOE 


241 


more malignant passions of the mind. The scars with 
which his visage was seamed would, on features of a 
different cast, have excited the sympathy and venera- 
tion due to the marks of honourable valour ; but, in the 
peculiar case of Front-de-Boeuf, they only added to the 
ferocity of his countenance, and to the dread which his 
presence inspired. This formidable baron was clad in 
a leathern doublet, fitted close to his body, which was 
frayed and soiled with the stains of his armour. He 
had no weapon, excepting a poniard at his belt, which 
served to counterbalance the weight of the bunch of 
rusty keys that hung at his right side. 

The black slaves who attended Front-de-Boeuf were 
stripped of their gorgeous apparel, and attired in jer- 
kins and trousers of coarse linen, their sleeves being 
tucked up above the elbow, like those of butchers when 
about to exercise their functions in the slaughter-house. 
Each had in his hand a small pannier; and, when they 
entered the dungeon, they stopt at the door until Front- 
de-Boeuf himself carefully locked and double-locked it. 
Having taken this precaution, he advanced slowly up 
the apartment towards the Jew, upon whom he kept his 
eye fixed, as if he wished to paralyze him with his glance, 
as some animals are said to fascinate their prey. It 
seemed, indeed, as if the sullen and malignant eye of 
Front-de-Boeuf possessed some portion of that supposed 
power over his unfortunate prisoner. The Jew sat 
with his mouth agape, and his eyes fixed on the savage 
baron wuth such earnestness of terror that his frame 
seemed literally to shrink together, and to diminish in 
size while encountering the fierce Norman’s fixed and 
baleful gaze. The unhappy Isaac was deprived not 
only of the power of rising to make the obeisance which 
his terror dictated, but he could not even doff his cap, 
or utter any word of supplication ; so strongly was he 
agitated by the conviction that tortures and death were 
impending over him. 


242 


IVANHOE 


On the other hand, the stately form of the Norman 
appeared to dilate in magnitude, like that of the eagle, 
which ruffles up its plumage when about to pounce on 
its defenceless prey. He paused within three steps of 
the comer in which the unfortunate Jew had now, as it 
were, coiled himself up into the smallest possible space, 
and made a sign for one of the slaves to approach. 
The black satellite came forward accordingly, and, pro- 
ducing from his basket a large pair of scales and sev- 
eral weights, he laid them at the feet of Front-de-Boeuf, 
and again retired to the respectful distance at which 
his companion had already taken his station. 

The motions of these men were slow and solemn, as 
if there impended over their souls some preconception 
of horror and of cruelty. Front-de-Boeuf himself 
opened the scene by thus addressing his ill-fated captive. 

“ Most accursed dog of an accursed race,” he said, 
awaking with his deep and sullen voice the sullen echoes 
of his dungeon-vault, “ seest thou these scales ? ” 

The unhappy Jew returned a feeble affirmative. 

“ In these very scales shalt thou weigh me out,” said 
the relentless Baron, “ a thousand silver pounds, after 
the just measure and weight of the Tower of London.” 

“ Holy Abraham ! ” returned the Jew, finding voice 
through the very extremity of his danger, “ heard man 
ever such a demand.^ Who ever heard, even in a min- 
strel’s tale, of such a sum as a thousand pounds of 
silver.? What human sight was ever blessed with the 
vision of such a mass of treasure.? Not within the walls 
of York, ransack my house and that of all my tribe, 
wilt thou find the tithe of that huge sum of silver that 
thou speakest of.” 

“I am reasonable,” answered Front-de-Boeuf, “and 
if silver be scant, I refuse not gold. At the rate of a 
mark of gold for each six pounds of silver, thou shalt 
free thy unbelieving carcass from such punishment as 
thy heart has never even conceived.” 


IVANHOE 


243 


“ Have mercy on me, noble knight ! ” exclaimed Isaac ; 
“ I am old, and poor, and helpless. It were unworthy to 
triumph over me. It is a poor deed to crush a worm.” 

“Old thou mayest be,” replied the knight; “more 
shame to their folly who have suffered thee to grow 
gray in usury and knavery. Feeble thou mayest be, 
for when had a Jew either heart or hand. But rich it 
is well known thou art.” 

“I swear to you, noble knight,” said the Jew, “by 
all which I believe, and by all wliich we believe in 
common — ” 

“Perjure not thyself,” said the Norman, interrupt- 
ing him, “ and let not thine obstinacy seal thy doom, 
until thou hast seen and well considered the fate that 
awaits thee. Think not I speak to thee only to excite 
thy terror, and practise on the base cowardice thou hast 
derived from thy tribe. I swear to thee by that which 
thou dost NOT believe, by the Gospel which our church 
teaches, and by the keys which are given her to bind 
and to loose, that my purpose is deep and peremptory. 
This dungeon is no place for trifling. Prisoners ten 
thousand times more distinguished than thou have died 
within these walls, and their fate hath never been 
known ! But for thee is reserved a long and lingering 
death, to which theirs were luxury.” 

He again made a signal for the slaves to approach, 
and spoke to them apart, in their own language ; for 
he also had been in Palestine, where, perhaps, he had 
learnt his lesson of cruelty. The Saracens produced 
from their baskets a quantity of charcoal, a pair of 
bellows, and a flask of oil. While the one struck a light 
with a flint and steel, the other disposed the charcoal in 
the large rusty grate which we have already mentioned, 
and exercised the bellows until the fuel came to a red 
glow. 

“ Seest thou, Isaac,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ the range 
of iron bars above that glowing charcoal On that 




IVANHOE 


warm couch thou shalt lie, stripped of thy clothes as 
if thou wert to rest on a bed of down. One of these 
slaves shall maintain the fire beneath thee, while the 
other shall anoint thy wretched limbs with oil, lest the 
roast should bum. Now, choose betwixt such a scorch- 
ing bed and the payment of a thousand pounds of 
silver; for, by the head of my father, thou hast no 
other option.’’ 

“It is impossible,” exclaimed the miserable Jew — 
“it is impossible that your purpose can be real! The 
good God of nature never made a heaii; capable of 
exercising such cruelty ! ” 

“Trust not to that, Isaac,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “it 
were a fatal error. Dost thou think that I, who have 
seen a town sacked, in which thousands of my Christian 
countrymen perished by sword, by flood, and by fire, 
will blench from my purpose for the outcries or screams 
of one single wretched Jew.?^ Or thinkest thou that 
these swarthy slaves, who have neither law, country, 
nor conscience, but their master’s will — who use the 
poison, or the stake, or the poniard, or the cord, at 
his slightest wink — thinkest thou that they will have 
mercy, who do not even understand the language in 
which it is asked.? Be wise, old man; discharge thyself 
of a portion of thy superfluous wealth ; repay to the 
hands of a Christian a part of what thou hast acquired 
by the usury thou hast practised on those of his reli- 
gion. Thy cunning may soon swell out once more thy 
shrivelled purse, but neither leech nor medicine can re- 
store thy scorched hide and flesh wert thou once 
stretched on these bars. Tell down thy ransom, I say, 
and rejoice that at such rate thou canst redeem thee 
from a dungeon the secrets of which few have returned 
to tell. I waste no more words with thee: choose be- 
tween thy dross and thy flesh and blood, and as thou 
choosest, so shall it be.” 

“ So may Abraham, Jacob, and all the fathers of 


IVANHOE 


245 


our people assist me,” said Isaac, “ I cannot make the 
choice, because I have not the means of satisfying your 
exorbitant demand ! ” 

“ Seize him and strip him, slaves,” said the knight, 
“ and let the fathers of his race assist him if they can.” 

The assistants, taking their directions more from 
the Baron’s eye and his hand than his tongue, once 
more stepped forward, laid hands on the unfortunate 
Isaac, plucked him up from the ground, and, holding 
him between them, waited the hard-hearted Baron’s fur- 
ther signal. The unhappy Jew eyed their countenances 
and that of Front-de-Boeuf, in hope of discovering some 
symptoms of relenting ; but that of the Baron exhibited 
the same cold, half-sullen, half-sarcastic smile which 
had been the prelude to his ciaielty; and the savage 
eyes of the Saracens, rolling gloomily under their dark 
brows, acquiring a yet more sinister expression by the 
whiteness of the circle which surrounds the pupil, 
evinced rather the secret pleasure which they expected 
from the approaching scene than any reluctance to be 
its directors or agents. The Jew then looked at the 
glowing furnace over which he was presently to be 
stretched, and seeing no chance of his tormentor’s re- 
lenting, his resolution gave way. 

“ I will pay,” he said, ‘‘ the thousand pounds of silver. 
That is,” he added, after a moment’s pause, ‘‘ I will pay 
it with the help of my brethren; for I must beg as a 
mendicant at the door of our synagogue ere I make 
up so unheard-of a sum. When and where must it be 
delivered .P ” 

‘‘Here,” replied Front-de-Boeuf — “here it must be 
delivered ; weighed it must be — weighed and told down 
on this very dungeon floor. Thinkest thou I will part 
with thee until thy ransom is secure ” 

“And what is to be my surety,” said the Jew, “that 
I shall be at liberty after this ransom is paid.^^” 

“The word of a Norman noble, thou pawnbroking 


246 


IVANHOE 


slave,” answered Front-de-Boeuf — “the faith of a 
Norman nobleman, more pure than the gold and silver 
of thee and all thy tribe.” 

“ I crave pardon, noble lord,” said Isaac, timidly, 
“ but wherefore should I rely wholly on the word of 
one who will trust nothing to mine ? ” 

“ Because thou canst not help it, Jew,” said the 
knight, sternly. “Wert thou now in thy treasure- 
chamber at York, and were I craving a loan of thy 
shekels, it would be thine to dictate the time of pay- 
ment and the pledge of security. This is my treasure- 
chamber. Here I have thee at advantage, nor will 
I again deign to repeat the terms on which I grant thee 
liberty.” 

The Jew groaned deeply. “ Grant me,” he said, “ at 
least, with my own liberty, that of the companions with 
whom I travel. They scorned me as a Jew, yet they 
pitied my desolation, and because they tarried to aid 
me by the way a share of my evil hath cgme upon them ; 
moreover, they may contribute in some sort to my 
ransom.” 

“ If thou meanest yonder Saxon churls,” said Front- 
de-Boeuf, “their ransom will depend upon other terms 
than thine. Mind thine own concerns, Jew, I warn thee, 
and meddle not with those of others.” 

“ I am, then,” said Isaac, “ only to be set at liberty, 
together with mine wounded friend.^” 

“ Shall I twice recommend it,” said Front-de-Boeuf, 
“to a son of Israel, to meddle with his own concerns, 
and leave tliose of others alone Since thou hast made 
thy choice, it remains but that thou payest down thy 
ransom, and that at a short day.” 

“Yet hear me,” said the Jew, “ for the sake of that 
very wealth which thou wouldst obtain at the expense 
of thy — ” Here he stopt short, afraid of irritating 
the savage Norman. But Front de-Boeuf only laughed, 
and himself filled up the blank at which the Jew had 


IVANHOE 


247 


hesitated. “At the expense of my conscience, thou 
wouldst say, Isaac ; speak it out — I tell thee I am 
reasonable. I can bear the reproaches of a loser, even 
when that loser is a Jew. Thou wert not so patient, 
Isaac, when thou didst invoke justice against Jacques 
Fitzdotterel, for calling thee a usurious blood-sucker, 
when thy exactions had devoured his patrimony.” 

“ I swear by the Talmud,” said the Jew, “that your 
valour has been misled in that matter. Fitzdotterel 
drew his poniard upon me in mine own chamber, be- 
cause I craved him for mine own silver. The term of 
payment was due at the Passover.” 

“I care not what he did,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “the 
question is, when shall I have mine own? — when shall 
I have the shekels, Isaac .P” 

“Let my daughter Rebecca go forth to York,” an- 
swered Isaac, “with your safe-conduct, noble knight, 
and so soon as man and horse can return, the treas- 
ure — ” here he groaned deeply, but added, after the 
pause of a few seconds — “the treasure shall be told 
down on this very floor.” 

“ Thy daughter ! ” said Front-de-Boeuf, as if sur- 
prised, — “by heavens, Isaac, I would I had known of 
this. I deemed that yonder black-browed girl had been 
thy concubine, and I gave her to be a handmaiden to 
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, after the fashion of patri- 
archs and heroes of the days of old, who set us in these 
matters a wholesome example.” 

The yell which Isaac raised at this unfeeling com- 
munication made the very vault to ring, and astounded 
the two Saracens so much that they let go their hold 
of the Jew. He availed himself of his enlargement to 
throw himself on the pavement and clasp the knees of 
Front-de-Boeuf. 

“ Take all that you have asked,” said he, “ Sir 
Knight; take ten times more — reduce me to ruin and 
to beggary, if thou wilt, — nay, pierce me with thy 


US 


IVANHOE 


poniard, broil me on that furnace ; but spare my daugh- 
ter, deliver her in safety and honour. As thou art born 
of woman, spare the honour of a helpless maiden. She 
is the image of my deceased Rachael — she is the last 
of six pledges of her love. Will you deprive a widowed 
husband of his sole remaining comfort Will you re- 
duce a father to wish that his only living child were 
laid beside her dead mother, in the tomb of our 
fathers.? ” 

“ I would,” said the Norman, somewhat relenting, 
“ that I had known of this before. I thought your race 
had loved nothing save their money-bags.” 

“ Think not so vilely of us, Jews though we be,” said 
Isaac, eager to improve the moment of apparent sym- 
pathy ; “ the hunted fox, the tortured wild-cat loves its 
young — the despised and persecuted race of Abraham 
love their children ! ” 

“ Be it so,” said Front-de-Boeuf ; “ I will believe it in 
future, Isaac, for thy very sake. But it aids us not 
now ; I cannot help what has happened, or what is to 
follow : my word is passed to my comrade in arms, nor 
would I break it for ten Jews and Jewesses to boot. 
Besides, why shouldst thou think evil is to come to the 
girl, even if she became Bois-Guilbert’s booty.?” 

“There will — there must!” exclaimed Isaac, wring- 
ing his hands in agony ; “ when did Templars breathe 
aught but cruelty to men and dishonour to women ! ” 

“ Dog of an infidel,” said Front-de-Boeuf, with spark- 
ling eyes, and not sorry, perhaps, to seize a pretext for 
working himself into a passion, “blaspheme not the 
Holy Order of the Temple of Zion, but take thought 
instead to pay me the ransom thou hast promised, or 
woe betide thy Jewish throat!” 

“Robber and villain!” said the Jew, retorting the 
insults of his oppressor with passion, which, however 
impotent, he now found it impossible to bridle, “ I will 
pay thee nothing — not one silver penny wiU I pay thee 


IVANHOE 249 

— unless my daughter is delivered to me in safety and 
honour ! ” 

“Art thou in thy senses, Israelite?” said the Nor- 
man, sternly ; “ has thy flesh and blood a charm against 
heated iron and scalding oil?” 

“I care not!” said the Jew, rendered desperate by 
paternal affection ; “ do thy worst. My daughter is my 
flesh and blood, dearer to me a thousand times than 
those limbs which thy cruelty threatens. No silver will 
I give thee, unless I were to pour it molten down thy 
avaricious throat; no, not a silver penny will I give 
thee, Nazarene, were it to save thee from the deep 
damnation thy whole life has merited! Take my life 
if thou wilt, and say the Jew, amidst his tortures, knew 
how to disappoint the Christian.” ' 

“We shall see that,” said Front-de-Boeuf ; “for by 
the blessed rood, which is the abomination of thy ac- 
cursed tribe, thou shalt feel the extremities of fire and 
steel ! Strip him, slaves, and chain him down upon the 
bars.” 

In spite of the feeble struggles of the old man, the 
Saracens had already tom from him his upper gar- 
ment, and were proceeding totally to disrobe him, when 
the sound of a bugle, twice winded without the castle, 
penetrated even to the recesses of the dungeon, and 
immediately after loud voices were heard calling for 
Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf. Unwilling to be found 
engaged in his hellish occupation, the savage Baron 
gave the slaves a signal to restore Isaac’s garment, and 
quitting the dungeon with his attendants, he left the 
Jew to thank God for his own deliverance, or to lament 
over his daughter’s captivity and probable fate, as his 
personal or parental feelings might prove strongest. 


250 


IVANHOE 


CHAPTER XXIII 

Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
Can no way change you to a milder form, 

I’ll woo you, like a soldier, at arms’ end. 

And love you ’gainst the nature of love, force you. 

Two Gentlemen of Verona. 

T he apartment to which the Lady Rowena had 
been introduced was fitted up with some rude 
attempts at ornament and magnificence, and her 
being placed there might be considered as a peculiar 
mark of respect not offered to the other prisoners. 
But the wife of Front-de-Boeuf, for whom it had been 
originally furnished, was long dead, and decay and 
neglect had impaired the few ornaments with which her 
taste had adorned it. The tapestry hung down from 
the walls in many places, and in others was tarnished 
and faded under the effects of the sun, or tattered and 
decayed by age. Desolate, however, as it was, this 
w^as the apartment of the castle which had been judged 
most fitting for the accommodation of the Saxon heiress ; 
and here she was left to meditate upon her fate, until 
the actors in this nefarious drama had arranged the 
several parts which each of them was to perform. This 
had been settled in a council held by Front-de-Boeuf, 
De Bracy, and the Templar, in which, after a long 
and warm debate concerning the several advantages 
which each insisted upon deriving from his peculiar 
share in this audacious enterprise, they had at length 
determined the fate of their unhappy prisoners. 

It was about the hour of noon, therefore, when De 
Bracy, for whose advantage the expedition had been 
first planned, appeared to prosecute his views upon the 
hand and possessions of the Lady Rowena. 

The interval had not entirely been bestowed in hold- 
ing council with his confederates, for De Bracy had 


IVANHOE 


251 


found leisure to decorate his person with all the foppery 
of the times. His green cassock and vizard were now 
flung aside. His long luxuriant hair was trained to 
flow in quaint tresses down his richly furred cloak. 
His beard was closely shaved, his doublet reached to 
the middle of his leg, and the girdle which secured 
it, and at the same time supported his ponderous sword, 
was embroidered and embossed with gold work. We 
have already noticed the extravagant fashion of the 
shoes at this period, and the points of Maurice de 
Bracy’s might have challenged the prize of extrava- 
gance with the gayest, being turned up and twisted 
like the horns of a ram. Such was the dress of a gal- 
lant of the period; and, in the present instance, that 
effect was aided by the handsome person and good de- 
meanour of the wearer, whose manners partook alike 
of the grace of a courtier and the frankness of a soldier. 

He saluted Rowena by doffing his velvet bonnet, gar- 
nished with a golden brooch, representing St. Michael 
trampling down the Prince of Evil. With this, he 
gently motioned the lady to a seat; and, as she still 
retained her standing posture, the knight ungloved his 
right hand, and motioned to conduct her thither. But 
Rowena declined, by her gesture, the proffered compli- 
ment, and replied, “ If I be in the presence of my jailer. 
Sir Knight — nor will circumstances allow me to think 
otherwise — it best becomes his prisoner to remain 
standing till she learns her doom.” 

“ Alas ! fair Rowena,” returned De Bracy, “ you 
are in presence of your captive, not your jailer; and 
it is from your fair eyes that De Bracy must receive 
that doom ivhich you fondly expect from him.” 

“ I know you not, sir,” said the lady, drawing her- 
self up with all the pride of offended rank and beauty 
— “I know you not; and the insolent familiarity with 
which you apply to me the jargon of a troubadour 
forms no apology for the violence of a robber.” 


252 


IVANHOE 


‘‘ To thyself, fair maid,” answered De Bracy, in his 
former tone — “ to thine own charms be ascribed what- 
e’er I have done which passed the respect due to her 
whom I have chosen queen of my heart and loadstar 
of my eyes.” 

“ I repeat to you. Sir Knight, that I know you not, 
and that no man wearing chain and spurs ought thus 
to intrude himself upon the presence of an unprotected 
lady.” 

“ That I am unknown to you,” said De Bracy, “ is 
indeed my misfortune ; yet let me hope that De Bracy’s 
name has not been always unspoken when minstrels or 
heralds have praised deeds of chivalry, whether in the 
lists or in the battlefield.” 

“ To heralds and to minstrels, then, leave thy praise, 
Sir Knight,” replied Rowena, “more suiting for their 
mouths than for thine own ; and tell me which of them 
shall record in song, or in book of tourney, the memora- 
ble conquest of this night, a conquest obtained over an 
old man, followed by a few timid hinds ; and its booty, 
an unfortunate maiden transported against her will to 
the castle of a robber.?” 

“You are unjust. Lady Rowena,” said the knight, 
biting his lips in some confusion, and speaking in 
a tone more natural to him than that of affected 
gallantry which he had at first adopted; “yourself 
free from passion, you can allow no excuse for the 
frenzy of another, although caused by your own 
beauty.” 

“ I pray you. Sir Knight,” said Rowena, “ to cease 
a language so commonly used by strolling minstrels 
that it becomes not the mouth of knights or nobles. 
Certes, you constrain me to sit down, since you enter 
upon such commonplace terms, of which each vile 
crowder hath a stock that might last from hence to 
Christmas.” 

“Proud damsel,” said De Bracy, incensed at finding 


IVANHOE 


253 


his gallant style procured him nothing but contempt — ■ 
“ proud damsel, thou shalt be as proudly encountered. 
Know, then, that I have supported my pretensions to 
your hand in the way that best suited thy character. 
It is meeter for thy humour to be wooed with bow and 
bill than in set terms and in courtly language.” 

“ Courtesy of tongue,” said Rowena, “ when it is 
used to veil churlishness of deed, is but a knight’s girdle 
‘ around the breast of a base clown. I wonder not that 
the restraint appears to gall you : more it were for 
your honour to have retained the dress and language 
of an outlaw than to veil the deeds of one under an 
affectation of gentle language and demeanour.” 

“ You counsel well, lady,” said the Norman ; “ and 
in the bold language which best justifies bold action, 
I tell thee, thou shalt never leave this castle, or thou 
shalt leave it as Maurice de Bracy’s wife. I am not 
wont to be baffled in my enterprises, nor needs a Nor- 
man noble scrupulously to vindicate his conduct to the 
Saxon maiden whom he distinguishes by the offer of 
his hand. Thou art proud, Rowena, and thou art the 
fitter to be my wife. By what other means couldst 
thou be raised to high honour and to princely place, 
saving by my alliance.? How else wouldst thou escape 
from the mean precincts of a country grange, where 
Saxons herd with the swine which form their wealth, 
to take thy seat, honoured as thou shouldst be, and 
shalt be, amid all in England that is distinguished by 
beauty or dignified by power.?” 

“ Sir Knight,” replied Rowena, “ the grange which 
you contemn hath been my shelter from infancy ; and, 
trust me, when I leave it — should that day ever arrive 
— it shall be with one who has not learnt to despise 
the dwelling and manners in wliich I have been brought 
up.” 

‘‘ I guess your meaning, lady,” said De Bracy, 
“though you may think it lies too obscure for my 


254 


IVANHOE 


apprehension. But dream not that Richard Coeur-de- 
Lion will ever resume his throne, far less that Wilfred 
of Ivanhoe, his minion, will ever lead thee to his foot- 
stool, to be there welcomed as the bride of a favourite. 
Another suitor might feel jealousy while he touched 
this string; but my firm purpose cannot be changed 
by a passion so childish and so hopeless. Know, lady, 
that this rival is in my power, and that it rests but 
with me to betray the secret of his being within the 
castle to Front-de-Boeuf , whose jealousy will be more 
fatal than mine.” 

Wilfred here ! ” said Rowena, in disdain ; “ that 
is as true as that Front-de-Boeuf is his rival.” 

De Bracy looked at her steadily for an instant. 
“Wert thou really ignorant of this.^” said he; “didst 
thou not know that Wilfred of Ivanhoe travelled in 
the litter of the Jew.f^ — a meet conveyance for the 
crusader whose doughty arm was to conquer the Holy 
Sepulchre!” And he laughed scornfully. 

“And if he is here,” said Rowena, compelling her- 
self to a tone of indifference, though trembling with 
an agony of apprehension which she could not sup- 
press, “in what is he the rival of Front-de-Boeuf or 
what has he to fear beyond a short imprisonment 
and an honourable ransom, according to the use of 
chivalry ? ” 

“ Rowena,” said De Bracy, “ art thou, too, deceived 
by the common error of thy sex, who think there can 
be no rivalry but that respecting their own charms.^ 
Knowest thou not there is a jealousy of ambition and of 
wealth, as well as of love; and that this our host, 
Front-de-Boeuf, will push from his road him who op- 
poses his claim to the fair barony of Ivanhoe as readily, 
eagerly, and unscrupulously as if he were preferred to 
him by some blue-eyed damsel But smile on my suit, 
lady, and the wounded champion shall have nothing 
to fear from Front-de-Boeuf, whom else thou mayest 


IVANHOE 255 

mourn for, as in the hands of one who has never shown 
compassion.” 

“ Save him, for the love of Heaven ! ” said Rowena, 
her firmness giving way under terror for her lover’s 
impending fate. 

“ I can — I will — it is my purpose,” said De Bracy ; 
“ for, when Rowena consents to be the bride of De 
Bracy, who is it shall dare to put forth a violent hand 
upon her kinsman — the son of her guardian — the 
companion of her youth But it is thy love must buy 
his protection. I am not romantic fool enough to 
further the fortune, or avert the fate, of one who is 
likely to be a successful obstacle between me and my 
wishes. Use thine influence with me in his behalf, and 
he is safe; refuse to employ it, Wilfred dies, and thou 
thyself art not the nearer to freedom.” 

“ Thy language,” answered Rowena, “ hath in its 
indifferent bluntness something which cannot be recon- 
ciled with the horrors it seems to express. I believe not 
that thy purpose is so wicked, or thy power so great.” 

“Flatter thyself, then, with that belief,” said De 
Bracy, “ until time shall prove it false. Thy lover lies 
wounded in this castle — thy preferred lover. He is a 
bar betwixt Front-de-Boeuf and that which Front-de- 
Boeuf loves better than either ambition or beauty. 
What will it cost beyond the blow of a poniard, or 
the thrust of a javelin, to silence his opposition for 
ever .5^ Nay, were Front-de-Boeuf afraid to justify a 
deed so open, let the leech but give his patient a wrong 
draught, let the chamberlain, or the nurse who tends 
him, but pluck the pillow from his head, and Wilfred, 
in his present condition, is sped without the effusion of 
blood. Cedric also — ” 

“And Cedric also,” said Rowena, repeating his 
words — “my noble — my generous guardian! I de- 
served the evil I have encountered, for forgetting his 
fate even in that of his son!” 


256 


IVANHOE 


‘‘ Cedric’s fate also depends upon thy determination,” 
said De Bracy, “ and I leave thee to form it.” 

Hitherto, Rowena had sustained her part in this 
trying scene with undismayed courage, but it was be- 
cause she had not considered the danger as serious and 
imminent. Her disposition was naturally that which 
physiognomists consider as proper to fair complexions 
— mild, timid, and gentle; but it had been tempered, 
and, as it were, hardened, by the circumstances of her 
education. Accustomed to see the will of all, even of 
Cedric himself — sufficiently arbitrary with others — 
give way before her wishes, she had acquired that sort 
of courage and self-confidence which arises from the 
habitual and constant deference of the circle in which 
we move. She could scarce conceive the possibility of 
her will being opposed, far less that of its being treated 
with total disregard. 

Her haughtiness and habit of domination was, there- 
fore, a fictitious character, induced over that which 
was natural to her, and it deserted her when her eyes 
were opened to the extent of her own danger, as well 
as that of her lover and her guardian ; and when she 
found her will, the slightest expression of which was 
wont to command respect and attention, now placed in 
opposition to that of a man of a strong, fierce, and 
determined mind, who possessed the advantage over 
her, and was resolved to use it, she quailed before him. 

After casting her eyes around, as if to look for the 
aid which was nowhere to be found, and after a few 
broken interjections, she raised her hands to heaven, 
and burst into a passion of uncontrolled vexation and 
sorrow. It was impossible to see so beautiful a creature 
in such extremity without feeling for her, arid De Bracy 
was not unmoved, though he was yet more embar- 
rassed than touched. He had, in truth, gone too far 
to recede ; and yet, in Rowena’s present condition, she 
could not be acted on either by arguments or threats. 


IVANHOE 


257 


He paced the apartment to and fro, now vainly exhort- 
ing the terrified maiden to compose herself, now hesi- 
tating concerning his own line of conduct. 

“ If,” thought he, “ I should be moved by the tears 
and sorrow of this disconsolate damsel, what should I 
reap but the loss of those fair hopes for which I have 
encountered so much risk, and the ridicule of Prince 
John and his jovial comrades.'^ And yet,” he said to 
himself, “I feel myself ill framed for the part which I 
am playing. I cannot look on so fair a face while it 
is disturbed with agony, or on those eyes when they are 
drowned in tears. I would she had retained her original 
haughtiness of disposition, or that I had a larger 
share of Front-de-Boeuf’s thrice-tempered hardness of 
heart ! ” 

Agitated by these thoughts, he could only bid the un- 
fortunate Rowena be comforted, and assure her that 
as yet she had no reason for the excess of despair to 
which she was now giving way. But in this task of 
consolation De Bracy was interrupted by the honi, 
‘‘ hoarse-winded blowing far and keen,” which had at 
the same time alarmed the other inmates of the castle, 
and interrupted their several plans of avarice and of 
license. Of them all, perhaps, De Bracy least regretted 
the interruption ; for his conference with the Lady 
Rowena had arrived at a point where he found it equally 
difficult to prosecute or to resign his enterprise. 

And here we cannot but think it necessary to offer 
some better proof than the incidents of an idle tale to 
vindicate the melancholy representation of manners 
which has been just laid before the reader. It is griev- 
ous to think that those valiant barons, to whose stand 
against the crown the liberties of England were in- 
debted for their existence, should themselves have been 
such dreadful oppressors, and capable of excesses con- 
trary not only to the laws of England, but to those of 
nature and humanity. But, alas ! we have only to 
17 


258 


IVANHOE 


extract from the industrious Henry one of those numer- 
ous passages which he has collected from contemporary 
historians, to prove that fiction itself can hardly reach 
the dark reality of the horrors of the period. • 

The description given by the author of the Saxon 
Chronicle of the cruelties exercised in the reign of King 
Stephen by the great barons and lords of castles, who 
were all Normans, affords a strong proof of the ex- 
cesses of which they were capable when their passions 
were inflamed. ‘‘ They grievously oppressed the poor 
people by building castles ; and when they were built, 
they filled them with wicked men, or rather devils, who 
seized both men and women who they imagined had any 
money, threw them into prison, and put them to more 
cruel tortures than the martyrs ever endured. They 
suffocated some in mud, and suspended others by the 
feet, or the head, or the thumbs, kindling fires below 
them. They squeezed the heads of some with knotted 
cords till they pierced their brains, while they threw 
others into dungeons swarming with serpents, snakes, 
and toads.” But it would be cruel to put the reader to 
the pain of perusing the remainder of this description. 

As another instance of these bitter fruits of conquest, 
and perhaps the strongest that can be quoted, we may 
mention, that the Princess Matilda, though a daughter 
of the King of Scotland, and afterwards both Queen of 
England, niece to Edgar Atheling, and mother to the 
Empress of Germany, the daughter, the wife, and the 
mother of monarchs, was obliged, during her early resi- 
dence for education in England, to assume the veil of 
a nun, as the only means of escaping the licentious 
pursuit of the Norman nobles. This excuse she stated 
before a great council of the clergy of England, as the 
sole reason for her having taken the religious habit. 
The assembled clergy admitted the validity of the plea, 
and the notoriety of the circumstances upon which it 
was founded ; giving thus an indubitable and most 


IVANHOE 


259 


remarkable testimony to the existence of that disgrace- 
ful license by which that age was stained. It was a 
matter of public knowledge, they said, that after the 
conquest of King William, his Norman followers, elated 
by so great a victory, acknowledged no' law but their 
own wicked pleasure, and not only despoiled the con- 
quered Saxons of their lands and their goods, but 
invaded the honour of their wives and of their daugh- 
ters with the most unbridled license ; and hence it was 
then common for matrons and maidens of noble families 
to assume the veil, and take shelter in convents, not as 
called thither by the vocation of God, but solely to 
preserve their honour from the unbridled wickedness of 
man. 

Such and so licentious were the times, as announced 
by the public declaration of the assembled clergy, re- 
corded by Eadmer ; and we need add nothing more to 
vindicate the probability of the scenes which we have 
detailed, and are about to detail, upon the more apoc- 
ryphal authority of the Waldour MS. 



CHAPTER XXIV 


I’ll woo her as the lion woos his bride. 


Douglas. 


W HILE the scenes we have described were pass- 
ing in other parts of the castle, the Jewess 
Rebecca awaited her fate in a distant and 
sequestered turret. Hither she had been led by two 
of her disguised ravishers, and on being thrust into the 
little cell, she found herself in the presence of an old 
sibyl, who kept murmuring to herself a Saxon rhyme, 
as if to beat time to the revolving dance which her 
spindle was performing upon the floor. The hag 


260 


IVANHOE 


raised her head as Rebecca entered, and scowled at the 
fair Jewess with the malignant envy which old age and 
ugliness, when united with evil conditions, are apt to 
look upon youth and beauty. 

“ Thou must up and away, old house-cricket,” said 
one of the men ; “ our noble master commands it. Thou 
must leave this chamber to a fairer guest.” 

“ Ay,” grumbled the hag, “ even thus is service re- 
quited. I have known when my bare word would have 
cast the best man-at-arms among ye out of saddle and 
out of service; and now must I up and away at the 
command of every groom such as thou.” 

“ Good Dame Urfried,” said the other man, “ stand 
not to reason on it, but up and away. Lords’ bests 
must be listened to with a quick ear. Thou hast had 
thy day, old dame, but thy sun has long been set. 
Thou art now the very emblem of an old war-horse 
turned out on the barren heath; thou hast had thy 
paces in thy time, but now a broken amble is the best 
of them. Come, amble off with thee.” 

“ 111 omens dog ye both ! ” said the old woman ; “ and 
a kennel be your burying-place ! May the evil demon 
Zernebock tear me limb from limb, if I leave my own 
cell ere I have spun out the hemp on my distaff!” 

“Answer it to our lord, then, old house-fiend,” said 
the man, and retired, leaving Rebecca in company with • 
the old woman, upon whose presence she had been thus 
unwillingly forced. 

“ What devil’s deed have they now in the wind.^ ” said 
the old hag, murmuring to herself, yet from time to 
time casting a sidelong and malignant glance at Re- 
becca; “but it is easy to guess. Bright eyes, black 
locks, and a skin like paper, ere the priest stains it with 
his black ungent! Ay, it is easy to guess why they 
send her to this lone turret, whence a shriek could no 
more be heard than at the depth of five hundred fath- 
oms beneath the earth. Thou wilt have owls for thy 


IVANHOE 


261 


neighbours, fair one; and their screams will be heard as 
far, and as much regarded, as thine own. Outlandish, 
too,” she said, marking the dress and turban of Re- 
becca. “What country art thou of.^ — a Saracen or 
an Egyptian.? Why dost not answer.? Thou canst 
weep, canst thou not speak .? ” 

“ Be not angry, good mother,” said Rebecca. 

“ Thou needst say no more,” replied Urfried ; “ men 
know a fox by the train, and a Jewess by her tongue.” 

“For the sake of mercy,” said Rebecca, “tell me 
what I am to expect as the conclusion of the violence 
■which hath dragged me hither! Is it my life they 
seek, to atone for my religion.? I will lay it down 
cheerfully.” 

“ Thy life, minion I ” answered the sibyl ; “ what 
•v\"ould taking thy life pleasure them.? Trust me, thy 
life is in no peril. Such usage shalt thou have as was 
once thought good enough for a noble Saxon maiden. 
And shall a Jewess like thee repine because she hath 
no better.? Look at me. I was as young and twice as 
fair as thou, when Front-de-Boeuf , father of this Regi- 
nald, and his Normans, stormed this castle. My 
father and his seven sons defended their inheritance 
from story to story, from chamber to chamber. There 
was not a room, not a step of the stair, that was not 
slippery with their blood. They died — they died every 
man ; and ere their bodies were cold, and ere their 
blood was dried, I had become the prey and the scorn 
of the conqueror I ” 

“ Is there no help.? Are there no means of escape? ” 
said Rebecca. “Richly — richly would I requite thine 
aid.” 

“ Think not of it,” said the hag ; “ from hence there 
is no escape but through the gates of death ; and it is 
late — late,” she added, shaking her gray head, “ere 
these open to us. Yet it is comfort to think that we 
leave behind us on earth those who shall be wretched as 


262 


IVANHOE 


ourselves. Fare thee well, Jewess ! Jew or Gentile, thy 
fate would be the same ; for thou hast to do with them 
that have neither scruple nor pity. Fare thee well, I 
say. My thread is spun out ; thy task is yet to begin.” 

“ Stay ! stay ! for Heaven’s sake ! ” said Rebecca — 
“ stay, though it be to curse and revile me ; thy pres- 
ence is yet some protection.” 

“ The presence of the mother of God were no pro- 
tection,” answered the old woman. “ There she stands,” 
pointing to a rude image of the Virgin Mary, “ see if 
she can avert the fate that awaits thee.” 

She left the room as she spoke, her features writhed 
into a sort of sneering laugh, which made them seem 
even more hideous than their habitual frown. She 
locked the door behind her, and Rebecca might hear her 
curse every step for its steepness, as slowly and with 
difficulty she descended the turret stairs. 

Rebecca was now to expect a fate even more dread- 
ful than that of Rowena; for what probability was 
there that either softness or ceremony would be used 
towards one of her oppressed race, whatever shadow of 
these might be preserved towards a Saxon heiress 
Yet had the Jewess this advantage, that she was better 
prepared by habits of thought, and by natural strength 
of mind, to encounter the dangers to which she was 
exposed. Of a strong and observing character, even 
from her earliest years, the pomp and wealth which her 
father displayed within his walls, or which she witnessed 
in the houses of other wealthy Hebrews, had not been able 
to blind her to the precarious circumstances under which 
they were enjoyed. Like Damocles at his celebrated 
banquet, Rebecca perpetually beheld, amid that gor- 
geous display, the sword which was suspended over the 
heads of her people by a single hair. These reflections 
had tamed and brought down to a pitch of sounder 
judgment a temper which, under other circumstances, 
might have waxed haughty, supercilious, and obstinate. 


IVANHOE 


263 


From her father’s example and injunctions, Re- 
becca had learnt to bear herself courteously towards all 
who approached her. She could not indeed imitate his 
excess of subservience, because she was a stranger to 
the meanness of mind and to the constant state of 
timid apprehenson by which it was dictated; but she 
})ore herself with a proud humility, as if submitting 
to the evil circumstances in which she was placed as 
the daughter of a despised race, while she felt in her 
mind the consciousness that she was entitled to hold 
a higher rank from her merit than the arbitrary 
despotism of religious prejudice permitted her to as- 
pire to. 

Thus prepared to expect adverse circumstances, she 
had acquired the firmness necessary for acting under 
them. Her present situation required all her presence 
of mind, and she summoned it up accordingly. 

Her first care was to inspect the apartment; but it 
afforded few hopes either of escape or protection. It 
contained neither secret passage nor trap-door, and, 
unless where the door by which she had entered joined 
the main building, seemed to be circumscribed by the 
round exterior wall of the turret. The door had no 
inside bolt or bar. The single window opened upon 
an embattled space surmounting the turret, which gave 
Rebecca, at first sight, some hopes of escaping; but 
she soon found it had no communication with any other 
part of the battlements, being an isolated bartizan, or 
balcony, secured, as usual, by a parapet, with em- 
brazures, at which a few archers might be stationed for 
defending the turret, and flanking with their shot 
the wall of the castle on that side. 

There was therefore no hope but in passive fortitude, 
and in that strong reliance on Heaven natural to great 
and generous characters. Rebecca, however errone- 
ously taught to interpret the promises of Scripture to 
the chosen people of Heaven, did not err in supposing 


IVANIIOE 


2()4 

the present to be their hour of trial, or in trusting 
that the children of Zion would be one day called in 
with the fulness of the Gentiles. In the meanwhile, all 
around her showed that their present state was that 
of punishment and probation, and that it was their 
especial duty to suffer without sinning. Thus prepared 
to consider herself as the victim of misfortune, Rebecca 
had early reflected upon her own state, and schooled 
her mind to meet the dangers which she had probably to 
encounter. 

The prisoner trembled, however, and changed colour, 
when a step was heard on the stair, and the door of 
the turret-chamber slowly opened, and a tall man, 
dressed as one of those banditti to whom they owed their 
misfortune, slowly entered, and shut the door behind 
him; his cap, pulled down upon his brows, concealed 
the upper part of his face, and he held his mantle in 
such a manner as to muffle the rest. In this guise, as if 
prepared for the execution of some deed, at the thought 
of which he was himself ashamed, he stood before the 
affrighted prisoner; yet, ruffian as his dress bespoke 
him, he seemed at a loss to express what purpose had 
brought him thither, so that Rebecca, making an effort 
upon herself, had time to anticipate his explanation. 
She had already unclasped two costly bracelets and a 
collar, which she hastened to proffer to the supposed 
outlaw, concluding naturally that to gratify his avarice 
was to bespeak his favour. 

“ Take these,” she said, “ good friend, and for God’s 
sake be merciful to me and my aged father! These 
ornaments are of value, yet are they trifling to what 
he would bestow to obtain our dismissal from this castle 
free and uninjured.” 

“Fair flower of Palestine,” replied the outlaw, 
“these pearls are orient, but they yield in whiteness 
to your teeth; the diamonds are brilliant, but they 
cannot match your eyes ; and ever since I have taken 


IVANHOE 2G5 

up this wild trade, I have made a vow to prefer beauty 
to wealth.” 

‘‘ Do not do yourself such wrong,” said Rebecca ; 
“ take ransom, and have mercy ! Gold will purchase you 
pleasure ; to misuse us could only bring thee remorse. 
My father will willingly satiate thy utmost wishes ; arid 
if thou wilt act wisely, thou mayest purchase with our 
spoils thy restoration to civil society — mayest obtain 
pardon for past errors, and be placed beyond the neces- 
sity of committing more.” 

“It is well spoken,” replied the outlaw in French, 
finding it difficult probably to sustain in Saxon a con- 
versation which Rebecca had opened in that language ; 
“ but know, bright lily of the vale of Baca ! that thy 
father is already in the hands of a powerful alchemist, 
who knows how to conveid into gold and silver even 
the rusty bars of a dungeon grate. The venerable 
Isaac is subjected to an alembic which will distil from 
him all he holds dear, without any assistance from my 
requests or thy entreaty. Thy ransom must be paid 
by love and beauty, and in no other coin will I ac- 
cept it.” 

“ Thou art no outlaw,” said Rebecca, in the same 
language in which he addressed her; “no outlaw had 
refused such offers. No outlaw in this land uses the 
dialect in which thou hast spoken. Thou art no out- 
law, but a Norman — a Norman, noble perhaps in 
birth. O, be so in thy actions, and cast off this fearful 
mask of outrage and violence!” 

“And thou, who canst guess so truly,” said Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert, dropping the mantle from his face, 
“ art no true daughter of Israel, but in all save youth 
and beauty a very witch of Endor. I am not an out- 
law then, fair rose of Sharon. And I am one who 
will be more prompt to hang thy neck and arms with 
pearls and diamonds, which so well become them, than 
to deprive thee of these ornaments.” 


266 


IVANHOE 


“ What wouldst thou have of me,” said Rebecca, “ if 
not my wealth? We can have nought in common be- 
tween us; you are a Christian, I am a Jewess. Our 
union were contrary to the laws alike of the church 
and the synagogue.” 

“ It were so, indeed,” replied the Templar, laughing. 
“Wed with a Jewess! Despardieux! Not if she were 
the Queen of Sheba ! And know, besides, sweet daugh- 
ter of Zion, that were the most Christian king to offer 
me his most Christian daughter, with Languedoc for a 
dowry, I could not wed her. It is against my vow to 
love any maiden, otherwise than par amours, as I will 
love thee. I am a Templar. Behold the cross of my 
holy order.” 

“ Barest thou appeal to it,” said Rebecca, “ on an 
occasion like the present ? ” 

“And if I do so,” said the Templar, “it concerns 
not thee, who art no believer in the blessed sign of our 
salvation.” 

“ I believe as my fathers taught,” said Rebecca ; 
“ and may God forgive my belief if erroneous ! But 
you. Sir Knight, what is yours, when you appeal with- 
out scruple to that which you deem most holy, even 
while you are about to transgress the most solemn of 
your vows as a knight and as a man of religion ? ” 

“ It is gravely and well preached, O daughter of 
Sirach!” answered the Templar; “but, gentle Eccle- 
siastica, thy narrow Jewish prejudices make thee blind 
to our high privilege. Marriage were an enduring 
crime on the part of a Templar ; but what lesser folly 
I may practise, I shall speedily be absolved from at the 
next preceptory of our order. Not the wisest of mon- 
archs, not his father, whose examples you must needs 
allow are weighty, claimed wider privileges than we 
poor soldiers of the Temple of Zion have won by our 
zeal in its defence. The protectors of Solomon’s temple 
may claim license by the example of Solomon.” 


IVANHOE 


267 


“ If thou readest the Scripture,” said the elewess, 
“ and the lives of the saints, only to justify thine own 
license and profligacy, thy crime is like that of him 
who extracts poison from the most healthful and neces- 
sary herbs.” 

The eyes of the Templar flashed fire at this reproof. 
“ Hearken,” he said, “ Rebecca ; I have hitherto spoken 
mildly to thee, but now my language shall be that of 
a conqueror. Thou art the captive of my bow and 
spear, subject to my will by the laws of all nations; 
nor will I abate an inch of my right, or abstain from 
taking by violence what thou refusest to entreaty or 
necessity.” 

“ Stand back,” said Rebecca — “ stand back, and 
hear me ere thou offerest to commit a sin so deadly! 
My strength thou mayest indeed overpower, for God 
made women weak, and trusted their defence to man’s 
generosity. But I will proclim thy villainy. Templar, 
from one end of Europe to the other. I will owe to the 
superstition of thy brethren what their compassion 
might refuse me. Each preceptory — each chapter of 
thy order, shall learn that, like a heretic, thou hast 
sinned with a Jewess. Those who tremble not at thy 
crime will hold thee accursed for having so far dis- 
honoured the cross thou wearest as to follow a daughter 
of my people.” 

“Thou art keen-witted, Jewess,” replied the Tem- 
plar, well aware of the truth of what she spoke, and 
that the rules of his order condemned in the most posi- 
tive manner, and under high penalties, such intrigues 
as he now prosecuted, and that in some instances even 
degradation had followed upon it — “thou art sharp- 
witted,” he said ; “ but loud must be thy voice of com- 
plaint if it is heard beyond the iron walls of this castle ; 
wuthin these, murmurs, laments, appeals to justice, 
and screams for help die alike silent away. One thing 
only can save thee, Rebecca. Submit to thy fate. 


268 


IVANHOE 


embrace our religion, and thou shalt go forth in such 
state that many a Norman lady shall yield as well in 
pomp as in beauty to the favourite of the best lance 
among the defenders of the Temple.” 

“Submit to my fate!” said Rebecca; “and, sacred 
Heaven! to what fate.^^ Embrace thy religion! and 
what religion can it be that harbours such a villain.? 
Thou the best lance of the Templars ! Craven knight ! 
— forsworn priest! I spit at thee, and I defy thee. 
The God of Abraham’s promise hath opened an escape 
to his daughter — even from this abyss of infamy ! ” 

As she spoke, she threw open the latticed window 
which led to the bartizan, and in an instant after stood 
on the very verge of the parapet, with not the slightest 
screen between her and the tremendous depth below. 
Unprepared for such a desperate effort, for she had 
hitherto stood perfectly motionless, Bois-Guilbert had 
neither time to intercept nor to stop her. As he offered 
to advance, she exclaimed, “Remain where thou art, 
proud Templar, or at thy choice advance! — one foot 
nearer, and I plunge myself from the precipice; my 
body shall be crushed out of the very form of humanity 
upon the stones of that courtyard ere it become the 
victim of thy brutality ! ” 

As she spoke this, she clasped her hands and ex- 
tended them towards heaven, as if .imploring mercy on 
her soul before she made the final plunge. The Tem- 
plar hesitated, and a resolution which had never yielded 
to pity or distress gave way to his admiration of her 
fortitude. “ Come down,” he said, “ rash girl ! I swear 
by earth, and sea, and sky, I will offer thee no offence.” 

“I will not trust thee. Templar,” said Rebecca; 
“ thou hast taught me better how to estimate the virtues 
of thine order. The next preceptory would grant thee 
absolution for an oath the keeping of which concerned 
nought but the honour or the dishonour of a miserable 
Jewish maiden.” 


IVANHOE 


269 


^‘You do me injustice,” exclaimed the Templar, fer- 
vently; “I swear to you by the name which I bear — ■ 
by the cross on my bosom — by the sword on my side — 
by the ancient crest of my fathers do I swear, I will 
do thee no injury whatsoever! If not for thyself, yet 
for thy father’s sake forbear ! I will be his friend, and 
in this castle he will need a powerful one.” 

“ Alas 1 ” said Rebecca, “ I know it but too well. 
Dare I trust thee.?^” 

“ May my arms be' reversed and my name dishon- 
oured,” said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, “ if thou shalt have 
reason to complain of me I Many a law, many a com- 
mandment have I broken, but my word never.” 

‘‘ I will then trust thee,” said Rebecca, ‘‘ thus far ” ; 
and she descended from the verge of the battlement, but 
remained standing close by one of the embrasures, or 
machicolles, as they were then called. “ Here,” she 
said, ‘‘ I take my stand. Remain where thou art, and 
if thou shalt attempt to diminish by one step the dis- 
tance now between us, thou shalt see that the Jewish 
maiden will rather trust her soul with God than her 
honour to the Templar ! ” 

While Rebecca spoke thus, her high and firm resolve, 
which corresponded so well with the expressive beauty 
of her countenance, gave to her looks, air, and manner 
a dignity that seemed more than mortal. Her glance 
quailed not, her cheek blanched not, for the fear of a 
fate so instant and so horrible; on the contrary, the 
thought that she had her fate at her command, and 
could escape at will from infamy to death, gave a yet 
deeper colour of carnation to her complexion, and a 
yet more brilliant fire to her eye. Bois-Guilbert, proud 
himself and high spirited, thought he had never beheld 
beauty so animated and so commanding. 

“ Let there be peace between us, Rebecca,” he said. 

“ Peace, if thou wilt,” answered Rebecca — “ peace ; 
but with this space between.” 


270 


IVANHOE 


“ Thou needest no longer fear me,” said Bois- 
Guilbert. 

“ I fear thee not,” replied she, “ thanks to him that 
reared this dizzy tower so high that nought could fall 
from it and live. Thanks to him, and to the God of 
Israel! I fear thee not.” 

“Thou dost me injustice,” said the Templar; “by 
earth, sea, and sky, thou dost me injustice! I am not 
naturally that which you have seen me — hard, selfish, 
and relentless. It was woman that taught me cruelty, 
and on woman therefore I have exercised it; but not 
upon such as thou. Hear me, Rebecca. Never did 
knight take lance in his hand with a heart more devoted 
to the lady of liis love than Brian de Bois-Guilbert. 
She, the daughter of a petty baron, who boasted for 
all his domains but a ruinous tower and an unproductive 
vineyard, and some few leagues of the barren Landes 
of Bordeaux, her name was known wherever deeds of 
arms were done, known wider than that of many a 
lady’s that had a county for a dowry. Yes,” he 
continued, pacing up and down the little platform, 
with an animation in which he seemed to lose all con- 
sciousness of Rebecca’s presence — “yes, my deeds, my 
danger, my blood made the name of Adelaide de Monte- 
mare known from the court of Castile to that of By- 
zantium. And how was I requited.?^ When I returned 
with my dear-bought honours, purchased by toil and 
blood, I found her wedded to a Gascon squire, whose 
name was never heard beyond the limits of his own 
paltry domain ! Truly did I love her, and bitterly did 
I revenge me of her broken faith ! But my vengeance 
has recoiled on myself. Since that day I have separated 
myself from life and its ties. My manhood must know 
no domestic home, must be soothed by no affectionate 
wife. My age must know no kindly hearth. My grave 
must be solitary, and no offspring must outlive me, to 
bear the ancient name of Bois-Guilbert. At the feet 


IVANHOE 


271 


of my superior I have laid down the right of self- 
action — the privilege of independence. The Templar, 
a serf in all but the name, can possess neitlier lands nor 
goods, and lives, moves, and breathes but at the will and 
pleasure of another.” 

“ Alas ! ” said Rebecca, “ what advantages could 
compensate for such an absolute sacrifice 

“The power of vengeance, Rebecca,” replied the 
Templar, “ and the prospects of ambition.” 

“ An evil recompense,” said Rebecca, “ for the surren^ 
der of the rights which are dearest to humanity.” 

“ Say not so, maiden,” answered the Templar ; 
“ revenge is a feast for the gods ! And if they have 
reserved it, as priests tell us, to themselves, it is because 
they hold it an enjoyment too precious for the posses- 
sion of mere mortals. And ambition ! it is a tempta- 
tion which could disturb even the bliss of Heaven 
itself.” He paused a moment, and then added, “Re- 
becca! she who could prefer death to dishonour must 
have a proud and a powerful soul. Mine thou must 
be! Nay, start not,” he added, “it must be with thine 
own consent, and on thine own terms. Thou must con- 
sent to share with me hopes more extended than can be 
viewed from the throne of a monarch! Hear me ere 
you answer, and judge ere you refuse. The Templar 
loses, as thou hast said, his social rights, his power of 
free agency, but he becomes a member and a limb of a 
mighty body, before which thrones already tremble — 
even as the single drop of rain which mixes with the 
sea becomes an individual part of that resistless ocean 
which undermines rocks and ingulfs royal armadas. 
Such a swelling flood is that powerful league. Of 
this mighty order I am no mean member, but already 
one of the chief commanders, and may well aspire one 
day to hold the batoon of Grand Master. The poor 
soldiers of the Temple will not alone place their foot 
upon the necks of kings ; a hcmp-sandalPd monk can 


272 


IVANHOE 


do that. Our mailed step shall ascend their throne, our 
gauntlet shall wrench the sceptre from their gripe. Not 
the reign of your vainly-expected Messiah offers such 
power to your dispersed tribes as my ambition may aim 
at. I have sought but a kindred spirit to share it, 
and I have found such in thee.” 

“ Sayest thou this to one of my people?” answered 
Rebecca. “Bethink thee — ” 

“ Answer me not,” said the Templar, “ by urging the 
difference of our creed; within our secret conclaves we 
hold these nursery tales in derision. Think not we long 
remained blind to the idiotical folly of our founders, 
who forswore every delight of life for the pleasure of 
dying martyrs by hunger, by thirst, and by pestilence, 
and by the swords of savages, wliile they vainly strove 
to defend a barren desert, valuable only in the eyes of 
superstition. Our order soon adopted bolder and wider 
views, and found out a better indemnification for our 
sacrifices. Our immense possessions in every kingdom 
of Europe, our high military fame, which brings within 
our circle the flower of chivalry from every Christian 
clime — these are dedicated to ends of which our pious 
founders little dreamed, and which are equally concealed 
from such weak spirits as embrace our order on the an- 
cient principles, and whose superstition makes them our 
passive tools. But I will not further withdraw the 
veil of our mysteries. That bugle-sound announces 
something which may require my presence. Think 
on what I have said. Farewell! I do not say forgive 
me the violence I have threatened, for it was necessary 
to the display of thy character. Gold can be only 
known by the application of the touchstone. I will 
soon return, and hold further conference with thee.” 

He re-entered the turret-chamber, and descended the 
stair, leaving Rebecca scarcely more terrified at the 
prospect of the death to which she had been so lately 
exposed, than at the furious ambition of the bold bad 


IVANHOE 


273 


man in whose power she found herself so unhappily 
placed. When she entered the turret-chamber, her first 
duty was to return thanks to the God of Jacob for the 
protection which He had afforded her, and to implore 
its continuance for her and for her father. Another 
name glided into her petition ; it was that of the 
wounded Christian, whom fate had placed in the hands 
of bloodthirsty men, his avowed enemies. Her heart 
indeed checked her, as if, even in communing with the 
Deity in prayer, she mingled in her devotions the recol- 
lection of one with whose fate hers could have no al- 
liance — a Nazarene, and an enemy to her faith. But 
the petition was already breathed, nor could all the 
narrow prejudices of her sect induce Rebecca to wish it 
recalled. 

CHAPTER XXV 

A damn’d cramp piece of penmanship as ever I saw in my life! 

She Stoops to Conquer, 

W HEN the Templar reached the hall of the 
castle, he found De Bracy already there. 
“Your love-suit,” said De Brac}’^, “hath, I 
suppose, been disturbed, like mine, by this obstreperous 
summons. But you have come later and more reluc- 
tantly, and therefore I presume your interview has 
proved more agreeable than mine.” 

“ Has your suit, then, been unsuccessfully paid to the 
Saxon heiress ? ” said the Templar. 

“By the bones of Thomas a Becket,” answered De 
Bracy, “ the Lady Rowena must have heard that I can- 
not endure the sight of women’s tears.” 

“Away!” said the Templar; “thou a leader of a 
Tree Company, and regard a woman’s tears I A few 
18 


274 IVANHOE 

drops sprinkled on the torch of love make the flame 
blaze the brighter.” 

“ Gramercy for the few drops of thy sprinkling,” re- 
plied De Bracy ; “ but this damsel hath wept enough 
to extinguish a beacon-light. Never was such wringing 
of hands and such overflowing of eyes, since the days of 
St. Niobe, of whom Prior Aymer told us. A water- 
fiend hath possessed the fair Saxon.” 

“ A legend of fiends have occupied the bosom of the 
Jewess,” replied the Templar; “for I think no single 
one, not even Apollyon himself, could have inspired 
such indomitable pride and resolution. But where is 
Front-de-Boeuf That horn is sounded more and 
more clamorously.” 

“ He is negotiating with the Jew, I suppose,” replied 
De Bracy, coolly ; “ probably the howls of Isaac have 
drowned the blast of the bugle. Thou mayest know, by 
experience. Sir Brian, that a Jew parting with his 
treasures on such terms as our friend Front-de-Boeuf 
is like to offer will raise a clamour loud enough to be 
heard over twenty horns and trumpets to boot. But we 
will make the vassals call him.” 

They were soon after joined by Front-de-Boeuf, who 
had been disturbed in his tyrannical cruelty in the man- 
ner with which the reader is acquainted, and had only 
tarried to give some necessary directions. 

“ Let us see the cause of this cursed clamour,” said 
Front-de-Boeuf; “here is a letter, and, if I mistake 
not, it is in Saxon.” 

He looked at it, turning it round and round as if he 
had had really some hopes of coming at the meaning by 
inverting the position of the paper, and then handed it 
to De Bracy. 

“ It may be magic spells for aught I know,” said De 
Bracy, who possessed his full proportion of the igno- 
rance which characterized the chivalry of the period. 
“ Our chaplain attempted to teach me to write,” he said. 


IVANHOE 


275 


“but all my letters were formed like spear-heads and 
sword-blades, and so the old shaveling gave up the 
task.” 

“Give it me,” said the Templar. “We have that of 
the priestly character, that we have some knowledge to 
enlighten our valour.” 

“Let us profit by your most reverend knowledge, 
then,” said Be Bracy; “what says the scroll.?” 

“ It is a formal letter of defiance,” answered the 
Templar ; “ but, by our Lady of Bethlehem, if it be not a 
foolish jest, it is the most extraordinary cartel that ever 
was sent across the drawbridge of a baronial castle.” 

“Jest!” said Front-de-Boeuf , “I would gladly know 
who dares jest with me in such a matter! Read it. Sir 
Brian.” 

The Templar accordingly read it as follows: — 

“ I, Wamba, the son of Witless, jester to a noble and 
freeborn man, Cedric of Rotherwood, called the Saxon : 
and I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph, the swineherd — ” 

“Thou art mad,” said Front-de-Boeuf, interrupting 
the reader. 

“ By St. Luke, it is so set down,” answered the 
Templar. Then resuming his task, he went on — “ I, 
Gurth, the son of Beowulph, swineherd unto the said 
Cedric, with the assistance of our allies and confeder- 
ates, who make common cause with us in this our feud, 
namely, the good knight, called for the present Le Noir 
Faineant, and the stout yeoman, Robert Locksley, 
called Cleave-the-Wand, do you, Reginald Front-de- 
Boeuf, and your allies and accomplices whomsoever, to 
wit, that whereas you have, without cause given or 
feud declared, wrongfully and by mastery seized upon 
the person of our lord and master the said Cedric ; also 
upon the person of a noble and freeborn damsel, the 
Lady Rowena of Hargottstandstede ; also upon the per- 
son of a noble and freeborn man. Atheist ane of Conings- 
burgh; also upon the persons of certain freeborn men. 


276 


IVANHOE 


their cnichts; also upon certain serfs, their born bonds- 
men ; also upon a certain Jew, named Isaac of York, 
together with his daughter, a Jewess, and certain horses 
and mules : which noble persons, with their cnichts and 
slaves, and also with the horses and mules, Jew and 
Jewess beforesaid, were all in peace with his Majesty? 
and travelling as liege subjects upon the king’s high- 
way ; therefore we require and demand that the said 
noble persons, namely, Cedric of Rotherwood, Rowena 
of Hargottstandstede, Athelstane of Coningsburgh, 
with their servants, cnichts, and followers, also the 
horses and mules, Jew and Jewess aforesaid, together 
with all goods and chattels to them pertaining, be, 
within an hour after the delivery hereof, delivered to 
us, or to those whom we shall appoint to receive the 
same, and that untouched and unharmed in body and 
goods. Failing of which, we do pronounce to you, that 
we hold ye as robbers and traitors, and will wager our 
bodies against ye in battle, siege, or otherwise, and do 
our utmost to your annoyance and destruction. Where- 
fore may God have you in His keeping. Signed by us 
upon the eve of St. Withold’s day, under the great 
try sting oak in the Harthill Walk, the above being 
written by a holy man, clerk to God, our Lady, and 
St. Dunstan, in the chapel of Copmanhurst.” 

At the bottom of this document was scrawled, in the 
first place, a rude sketch of a cock’s head and comb, 
with a legend expressing this hieroglyphic to be the 
sign-manual of Wamba, son of Witless. Under this re- 
spectable emblem stood a cross, stated to be the mark of 
Gurth, son of Beowulph. Then were written, in rough 
bold characters, the words Le Noir Faineant. And, 
to conclude the whole, an arrow, neatly enough drawn, 
was described as the mark of the yeoman Locksley. 

The knights heard this uncommon document read 
from end to end, and then gazed upon each other in 
silent amazement, as being utterly at a loss to know 


IVANHOE 


277 


what it could portend. De Bracy was the first to break 
silence by an uncontrollable fit of laughter, wherein he 
was joined, though with more moderation, by the Tem- 
plar. Front-de-Boeuf , on the contrary, seemed impa- 
tient of their ill-timed jocularity. 

“ I give you plain warning,” he said, “ fair sirs, that 
you had better consult how to bear yourselves under 
these circumstances, than give way to such misplaced 
merriment.” 

“Front-de-Boeuf has not recovered his temper since 
his late overthrow,” said De Bracy to the Templar; 
“ he is cowed at the very idea of a cartel, though it 
come but from a fool and a swineherd.” 

“ By St. Michael,” answered Front-de-Boeuf, “ I 
would thou couldst stand the whole brunt of this ad- 
venture thyself, De Bracy. These fellows dared not 
have acted with such inconceivable impudence, had they 
not been supported by some strong bands. There are 
enough of outlaws in this forest to resent my protect- 
ing the deer. I did but tie one fellow, who was taken 
red-handed and in the fact, to the horns of a wild stag, 
which gored him to death in five minutes, and I had as 
many arrows shot at me as there were launched against 
yonder target at Ashby. Here, fellow,” he added, to 
one of his attendants, “hast thou sent out to see by 
what force this precious challenge is to be supported ” 

“There are at least two hundred men assembled in 
the woods,” answered a squire who was in attendance. 

“Here is a proper matter!” said Front-de-Boeuf; 
“this comes of lending you the use of my castle, that 
cannot manage your undertaking quietly, but you must 
bring this nest of hornets about my ears I ” 

“ Of hornets ! ” said De Bracy, “ of stingless drones 
rather; a band of lazy knaves, who take to the wood 
and destroy the venison rather than labour for their 
maintenance.” 

“Stingless!” replied Front-de-Boeuf ;“ fork-headed 


278 


IVANHOE 


shafts of a cloth-yard in length, and these shot within 
the breadth of a French crown, are sting enough.” 

“For shame. Sir Knight!” said the Templar. “Let 
us summon our people and sally forth upon them. One 
knight — ay, one man-at-arms, were enough for twenty 
such peasants.” 

“ Enough, and too much,” said De Bracy ; “ I should 
only be ashamed to couch lance against them.” 

“True,” answered Front-de-Boeuf ; “were they black 
Turks or Moors, Sir Templar, or the craven peasants 
of France, most valiant De Bracy ; but these are Eng- 
lish yeomen, over whom we shall have no advantage, 
save what we may derive from our arms and horses, 
which will avail us little in the glades of the forest. 
Sally, saidst thou? We have scarce men enough to 
defend the castle. The best of mine are at York ; so is 
all your band, De Bracy ; and we have scarcely twenty, 
besides the handful that were engaged in this mad 
business.” 

“ Thou dost not fear,” said the Templar, “ that 
they can assemble in force sufficient to attempt the 
castle ? ” 

“ Not so. Sir Brian,” answered Front-de-Boeuf. 
“ These outlaws have indeed a daring captain ; but 
without machines, scaling ladders, and experienced 
leaders, my castle may defy them.” 

“ Send to thy neighbors,” said the Templar ; “ let 
them assemble their people and come to the rescue of 
three knights, besieged by a. jester and a swineherd in 
the baronial castle of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf!” 

“You jest. Sir Knight,” answered the baron; “but 
to whom should I send? Malvoisin is by this time at 
York with his retainers, and so are my other allies ; and 
so should I have been, but for this infernal enterprise.” 

“Then send to York and recall our , people,” said 
De Bracy. “If they abide the shaking ‘of my stand- 
ard, or the sight of my Free Companions, I will give 


IVANHOE 279 

them credit for the boldest outlaws ever bent bow in 
greenwood.” 

“ And who shall bear such a message ? ” said Front- 
de-Bceuf ; “ they will beset every path, and rip the er- 
rand out of his bosom. I have it,” he added, after 
pausing for a moment. “ Sir Templar, thou canst write 
as well as read, and if we can but find the writing 
materials of my chaplain, who died a twelvemonth since 
in the midst of his Christmas carousals — ” 

“ So please ye,” said the squire, who was still in at- 
tendance, “ I think old Ur fried has them somewhere in 
keeping, for love of the confessor. He was the last 
man, I have heard her tell, who ever said aught to her 
which man ought in courtesy to address to maid or 
matron.” 

‘‘Go, search them out, Engelred,” said Front-de- 
Boeuf ; “ and then. Sir Templar, thou shalt return an 
answer to this bold challenge.” 

“ I would rather do it at the sword’s point than at 
tliat of the pen,” said Bois-Guilbert ; “ but be it as you 
will.” 

He sat down accordingly, and indited, in the French 
language, an epistle of the following tenor: — 

“ Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf , with his noble and 
knightly allies and confederates, receive no defiances at 
the hands of slaves, bondsmen, or fugitives. If the per- 
son calling himself the Black Knight have indeed a 
claim to the honors of chivalry, he ought to know that 
he stands degraded by his present association, and has 
no right to ask reckoning at the hands of good men of 
noble blood. Touching the prisoners we have made, we 
do in Christian charity require you to send a man of 
religion to receive their confession and reconcile them 
with God ; since it is our fixed intention to execute them 
this morning before noon, so that their heads, being 
placed on the battlements, shall show to all men how 
lightly we esteem those who have bestirred themselves 


280 


IVANHOE 


in their rescue. Wherefore, as above, we require 
you to send a priest to reconcile them to God, in 
doing which you shall render them the last earthly 
service.” 

This letter, being folded, was delivered to the squire, 
and by him to the messenger who waited without, as the 
answer to that which he had brought. 

The yeoman, having thus accomplished his mission, 
returned to the headquarters of the allies, which were 
for the present established under a venerable oak-tree, 
about three arrow-flights distant from the castle. Here 
Wamba and Gurth, with their allies the Black Knight 
and Locksley, and the jovial hermit, awaited with im- 
patience an answer to their summons. Around, and at 
a distance from them, were seen many a bold yeoman, 
whose silvan dress and weather-beaten countenances 
showed the ordinary nature of their occupation. More 
than two hundred had already assembled, and others 
were fast coming in. Those whom they obeyed as 
leaders were only distinguished from the others by a 
feather in the cap, their dress, arms, and equipments 
being in all other respects the same. 

Besides these bands, a less orderly and a worse- 
, armed force, consisting of the Saxon inhabitants of the 
neighbouring township, as well as many bondsmen and 
servants from Cedric’s extensive estate, had already ar- 
rived, for the purpose of assisting in his rescue. Few 
of these were armed otherwise than with such rustic 
weapons as necessity sometimes converts to military 
pui'poses. Boar-spears, scythes, flails, and the like, 
were their chief arms ; for the Normans, with the usual 
policy of conquerors, were jealous of permitting to the 
vanquished Saxons the possession or the use of swords 
and spears. These circumstances rendered the assist- 
ance of the Saxons far from being so formidable to the 
besieged as the strength of the men themselves, their 
superior numbers, and the animation inspired by a just 


IVANHOE 


281 


cause, might otherwise well have made them. It was 
to the leaders of this motley army that the letter of the 
Templar was now delivered. 

Reference was at first made to the chaplain for an 
exposition of its contents. 

“ By the crook of St. Dunstan,” said that worthy 
ecclesiastic, “ \¥hich hath brought more sheep within the 
sheepfold than the crook of e’er another saint in Para- 
dise, I swear that I cannot expound unto you this jar- 
gon, which, whether it be French or Arabic, is beyond 
my guess.” 

He then gave the letter to Gurth, who shook his head 
gruffly, and passed it to Wamba. The Jester looked at 
each of the four corners of the paper with such a grin 
of affected intelligence as a monkey is apt to assume 
upon similar occasions, then cut a caper, and gave the 
letter to Locksley. 

“ If the long letters were bows, and the short letters 
broad arrows, I might know something of the matter,” 
said the honest yeoman ; “ but as the matter stands, the 
meaning is as safe, for me, as the stag that ’s at twelve 
miles’ distance.” 

“ I must be clerk, then,” said the Black Knight ; and 
taking the letter from Locksley, he first read it over to 
himself, and then explained the meaning in Saxon to his 
confederates. 

“ Execute the noble Cedric ! ” exclaimed Wamba ; “ by 
the rood, thou must be mistaken. Sir Knight.” 

“Not I, my worthy friend,” replied the knight, 
“ I have explained the words as they are here set 
down.” 

“ Then, by St. Thomas of Canterbury,” replied 
Gurth, “ we will have the castle, should we tear it down 
with our hands!” 

“We have nothing else to tear it with,” replied 
Wamba; “but mine are scarce fit to make mammocks 
of freestone and mortar.” 


282 


IVANHOE 


“ ’T is but a contrivance to gain time,” said Locks- 
ley ; “ they dare not do a deed for which I could exact 
a fearful penalty.” 

“ I would,” said the Black Knight, “ there were some 
one among us who could obtain admission into the 
castle, and discover how the case stands with the be- 
sieged. Methinks, as they require a confessor to be 
sent, this holy hermit might at once exercise his pious 
vocation and procure us the information we desire.” 

“A plague on thee and thy advice!” said the good 
hermit ; “ I tell thee. Sir Slothful Knight, that when 
I doff my friar’s frock, my priesthood, my sanctity, my 
very Latin, are put off along with it ; and when in my 
green jerkin I can better kill twenty deer than confess 
one Christian.” 

“I fear,” said the Black Knight — “I fear greatly 
there is no one here that is qualified to take upon him, 
for the nonce, this same character of father confessor.'' ” 

All looked on each other, and were silent. 

“ I see,” said Wamba, after a short pause, “that the 
fool must still be the fool, and put his neck in the ven- 
ture which wise men shrink from. You must know, my 
dear cousins and countrymen, that I wore russet before 
I wore motley, and was bred to be a friar, until a brain- 
fever came upon me and left me just wit enough to be 
a fool. I trust, with the assistance of the good hermit’s 
frock, together with the priesthood, sanctity, and learn- 
ing which are stitched into the cowl of it, I shall be^ 
found qualified to administer both worldly and ghostly 
comfort' to our worthy master Cedric and his compan- 
ions in adversity.” 

“Hath he sense enough, thinkst thou?” said the 
Black Knight, addressing Gurth. 

“I know not,” said Gurth; ^‘but if he hath not, it 
will be the first time he hath wanted wit to turn his 
folly to account.” 

“On with the frock, then, good fellow,” quoth the 


IVANHOE 


283 


Knight, “ and let thy master send us an account of 
their situation within the castle. Their numbers must 
be few, and it is five to one they may be accessible by a 
sudden and bold attack. Time wears — away with 
thee.” 

‘‘And, in the meantime,” said Locksley, “we will 
beset the place so closely that not so much as a fly shall 
carry news from thence. So that, my good friend,” he 
continued, addressing Wamba, “thou mayest assure 
these tyrants that whatever violence they exercise on 
the persons of their prisoners shall be most severely 
repaid upon their own.” 

Pax vobiscnm^^ said Wamba, who was now muffled 
in his religious disguise. 

And so saying, he imitated the solemn and stately 
deportment of a friar, and departed to execute his 
mission. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


^The hottest horse will oft be cool. 
The dullest will show fire; 

Tlie friar will often play the fool, 
The fool will play the friar. 

OU 



W HEN the Jester, arrayed in the cowl and 
frock of the hermit, and having his knotted 
cord twisted round his middle, stood before 
the portal of the castle of Front-de-fioeuf, the warder 
demanded of him his name and errand. 

Pax vohiscum^^^ answered the Jester, “I am a poor 
brother of the Order of St. Francis, who come hither 
to do my office to certain unhappy prisoners now se- 
cured within this castle.” 

“Thou art a bold friar,” said the warder, “to come 
hither, where, saving our own drunken confessor, a 


284 


IVANHOE 


cock of thy feather hath not crowed these twenty 
years.” 

“ Yet I pray thee, do mine errand to the lord of the 
castle,” answered the pretended friar; “trust me, it 
will find good acceptance with him, and the cock shall 
crow, that the whole castle shall hear him.” 

“ Gramercy,” said the warder ; “ but if I come to 
shame for leaving my post upon thine errand, I will 
try whether a friar’s gray gown be proof against a 
gray-goose shaft.” 

With this threat he left his turret, and carried to the 
hall of the castle his unwonted intelligence, that a holy 
friar stood before the gate and demanded instant ad- 
mission. With no small wonder he received his mas- 
ter’s commands to admit the holy man immediately; 
and, having previously manned the entrance to guard 
against surprise, he obeyed, without further scruple, 
the commands which he had received. The hare-brained 
self-conceit which had emboldened Wamba to undertake 
this dangerous office was scarce sufficient to support him 
when he found himself in the presence of a man so 
dreadful, and so much dreaded, as Reginald Front-de- 
Boeuf, and he brought out his “ Fax vohiscum,^^ to which 
he, in a good measure, trusted for supporting his 
character, with more anxiety and hesitation than had 
•hitherto accompanied it. But Front-de-Boeuf was ac- 
customed to see men of all ranks tremble in his pres- 
ence, so that the timidity of the supposed father did not 
give him any cause of suspicion. “Who and whence 
art thou, priest.^” said he. 

“ Pax 'vobi^cum,’’ reiterated the Jester, “ I am a poor 
servant of St. Francis, who, travelling through this 
wilderness, have fallen among thieves as Scripture hath 
it — qwidam viator incidit in latrones — which thieves 
have sent me unto this castle in order to do my ghostly 
office on two persons condemned by your honourable 
justice.” 


IVANHOE 


285 


“ Ay, right,” answered Front-de-Boeuf ; “ and canst 
thou tell me, holy father, the number of those banditti ? ” 

“ Gallant sir,” answered the Jester, “ nomen illis legio 
— their name is legion.” 

“ Tell me in plain terms what numbers there are, or, 
priest, thy cloak and cord will ill protect thee.” 

“ Alas ! ” said the supposed friar, “ cor meum eruc- 
tavit, that is to say, I was like to burst with fear! but 
I conceive they may be, what of yeomen, what of com- 
mons, at least five hundred men.” 

“ What ! ” said the Templar, who came into the hall 
that moment, “muster the wasps so thick here.? It is 
time to stifle such a mischievous brood.” Then taking 
Front-de-Boeuf aside, “ Knowest thou the priest?” 

“He is a stranger from a distant convent,” said 
Front-de-Boeuf; “I know him not.” 

“ Then trust him not with thy purpose in words,” 
answered the Templar. “ Let him carry a written order 
to De Bracy’s company of Free Companions, to repair 
instantly to their master’s aid. In the meantime, and 
that the shaveling may suspect nothing, permit him to 
go freely about his task of preparing these Saxon hogs 
for the slaughter-house.” 

“It shall be so,” said Front-de-Boeuf. And he 
forthwith appointed a domestic to conduct Wamba 
to the apartment where Cedric and Athelstane were 
confined. 

The impatience of Cedric had been rather enhanced 
than diminished by his confinement. He walked from 
one end of the hall to the other, with the attitude of 
one who advances to charge an enemy, or to storm the 
breach of a beleaguered place, sometimes ejaculating 
to himself, sometimes addressing Athelstane, who stoutly 
and stoically awaited the issue of the adventure, digest- 
ing, in the meantime, with great composure, the liberal 
meal wLich he had made at noon, and not greatly in- 
teresting himself about the duration of his captivity, 


£86 


IVANHOE 


which he concluded would, like all earthly evils, find an 
end in Heaven’s good time. 

‘‘ Pax vobiscum,’^ said the Jester, entering the apart- 
ment; “the blessing of St. Dunstan, St. Denis, St. 
Duthoc, and all other saints whatsoever, be upon ye 
and about ye.” 

“Enter freely,” answered Cedric to the supposed 
friar; “with what intent art thou come hither.?” 

“ To bid you prepare yourselves for death,” an- 
swered the Jester. 

“ It is impossible! ” replied Cedric, starting. “ Fear- 
less and wicked as they are, they dare not attempt such 
open and gratuitous cruelty I ” 

“ Alas ! ” said the Jester, “ to restrain them by their 
sense of humanity is the same as to stop a runaway 
horse with a bridle of silk thread. Bethink thee, there- 
fore, noble Cedric, and you also, gallant Athelstane, 
what crimes you have committed in the flesh ; for this 
very day will ye be called to answer at a higher 
tribunal.” 

“ Hearest thou this, Athelstane? ” said Cedric. “ We 
must rouse up our hearts to this last action, since better 
it is we should die like men than live like slaves.” 

“ I am ready,” answered Athelstane, “ to stand the 
w^orst of their malice, and shall walk to my death with 
as much composure as ever I did to my dinner.” 

“ Let us then unto our holy gear, father,” said Cedric. 

“Wait yet a moment, good uncle,” said the Jester, 
in his natural tone ; “ better look long before you leap 
in the dark.” 

“ By my faith,” said Cedric, “ I should know that 
voice 1 ” 

“ It is that of your trusty slave and Jester,” an- 
swered Wamba, throwing back his cowl. “Had you 
taken a fool’s advice formerly, you would not have 
been here at all. Take a fool’s advice now, and you 
will not be here long.” 


IVANHOE 


287 


“How meanest thou, knave?” answered the Saxon. 

“Even thus,” replied Wamba; “take thou this frock 
and cord, which are all the orders I ever had, and march 
quietly out of the castle, leaving me your cloak and 
girdle to take the long leap in thy stead.” 

“ Leave thee in my stead ! ” said Cedric, astonished 
at the proposal ; “ why, they would hang thee, my poor 
knave.” 

“ E’en let them do as they are permitted,” said 
Wamba; “I trust — no disparagement to your birth 
— that the son of Witless may hang in a chain with as 
much gravity as the chain hung upon his ancestor the 
alderman.” 

“Well, Wamba,” answered Cedric, “for one thing 
will I grant thy request. And that is, if thou wilt make 
the exchange of garments with Lord Athelstane instead 
of me.” 

“No, by St. Dunstan,” answered Wamba; “there 
were little reason in that. Good right there is that the 
son of Witless should suffer to save the son of Here- 
w ard ; but little wisdom there were in his dying for the 
benefit of one whose fathers were strangers to his.” 

“Villain,” said Cedric, “the fathers of Athelstane 
were monarchs of England!” 

“ They might be whomsoever they pleased,” replied 
Wamba ; “ but my neck stands too straight upon my 
shoulders to have it twisted for their sake. Wherefore, 
good my master, either take my proffer yourself or 
suffer me to leave this dungeon as free as I entered.” 

“ Let the old tree wither,” continued Cedric, “ so the 
stately hope of the forest be preserved. Save the noble 
Athelstane, my trusty Wamba! it is the duty of each 
who has Saxon blood in his veins. Thou and I will 
abide together the utmost rage of our injurious op- 
pressors, while he, free and safe, shall arouse the awak- 
ened spirits of our countrymen to avenge us.” 

“Not so, father Cedric,” said Athelstane, grasping 


288 


IVANHOE 


his hand, for, when roused to think or act, his deeds and 
sentiments were not unbecoming his high race — “not 
so,” he continued ; “ I would rather remain in this hall 
a week without food save the prisoner’s stinted loaf, or 
drink save the prisoner’s measure of water, than em- 
brace the opportunity to escape which the slave’s un- 
taught kindness has purveyed for his master.” 

“ You are called wise men, sirs,” said the Jester, “ and 
I a crazed fool; but, uncle Cedric and cousin Athel- 
stane, the fool shall decide this controversy for ye, and 
save ye the trouble of straining courtesies any further. 
I am like John-a-Duck’s mare, that will let no man 
mount her but John-a-Duck. I came to save my mas- 
ter, and if he will not consent, basta ! I can but go away 
home again. Kind service cannot be chucked from 
hand to hand like a shuttlecock or stool-ball. I ’ll hang 
for no man but my own born master.” 

“ Go, then, noble Cedric,” said Athelstane,* “ neglect 
not this opportunity. Your presence without may en- 
courage friends to our rescue; your remaining here 
would ruin us all.” 

“ And is there any prospect, then, of rescue from 
without.?” said Cedric, looking at the Jester. 

“ Prospect, indeed ! ” echoed Wamba ; “ let me tell 
you, when you fill my cloak, you are wrapped in a gen- 
eral’s cassock. Five hundred men are there without, 
and I was this morning one of their chief leaders. My 
fool’s cap was a casque, and my bauble a truncheon. 
Well, we shall see what good they will make by ex- 
changing a fool for a wise man. Truly, I fear they 
will lose in valour what they may gain in discretion. 
And so farewell, master, and be kind to poor Gurth and 
his dog Fangs ; and let my cockscomb hang in the hall 
at Rotherwood, in memory that I flung away my life 
for my master, like a faithful — fool.” The last word 
came out with a sort of double expression, betwixt jest 
and earnest. 


IVANHOE 


289 


The tears stood in Cedric’s eyes. Thy memory 
shall be preserved,” he said, “while fidelity and affec- 
tion have honour upon earth ! But that I trust I shall 
find the means of saving Rowena, and thee, Athelstane, 
and thee also, my poor Wamba, thou shouldst not over- 
bear me in this matter.” 

The exchange of dress was now accomplished, when a 
sudden doubt struck Cedric. 

“ I know no language,” he said, “ but my own, and 
a few words of their mincing Norman. How shall I 
bear myself like a reverend brother.?^” 

“ The spell lies in two words,” replied Wamba. “ Pax 
vohiscum will answer all queries. If you go or come, 
eat or drink, bless or ban. Pax vohiscum carries you 
through it all. It is as useful to a friar as a broomstick 
to a witch, or a wand to a conjuror. Speak it but thus, 
in a deep grave tone — Pax vohiscum — it is irresist- 
ible. Watch and ward, knight and squire, foot and 
horse, it acts as a charm upon them all. I think, if 
they bring me out to be hanged to-morrow, as is much 
to be doubted they may, I will try its weight upon the 
finisher of the sentence.” 

“ If such prove the case,” said his master, “ my reli- 
gious orders are soon taken — Pax vohiscum. I trust 
I shall remember the password. Noble Athelstane, fare- 
well; and farewell, my poor boy, whose heart might 
make amends for a weaker head; I will save you, or 
return and die with you. The royal blood of our Saxon 
kings shall not be spilt while mine beats in my veins : 
nor shall one hair fall from the head of the kind knave 
who risked himself for his master, if Cedric’s peril can 
prevent it. Farewell.” 

“ Farewell, noble Cedric,” said Athelstane ; “ remem- 
ber, it is the true part of a friar to accept refreshment, 
if you are offered any.” 

“Farewell, uncle,” added Wamba; “and remember 
Pax vohiscum.’^ 


19 


290 


IVANHOE 


Thus exhorted, Cedric sallied forth upon his expedi- 
tion; and it was not long ere he had occasion to try 
the force of that spell w^hich his Jester had recommended 
as omnipotent. In a low-arched and dusky passage, 
by which he endeavoured to work his way to the hall 
of the castle, he was interrupted by a female form. 

Pax vobiscum!” said the pseudo friar, and was 
endeavouring to hurry past, when a soft voice replied, 
Et vobis; queeso, domine reverendissime, pro miseri- 
cordia vestraP 

“ I am somewhat deaf,” replied Cedric, in good 
Saxon, and at the same time muttered to himself, ‘‘ A 
curse on the fool and his Pax vobiscum! I have lost 
my javelin at the first cast.” 

It was, however, no unusual thing for a priest of 
those days to be deaf of his Latin ear, and this the 
person who now addressed Cedric knew full well. 

“ I pray you of dear love, reverend father,” she re- 
plied in his own language, “ that you will deign to visit 
with your ghostly comfort a wounded prisoner of this 
castle, and have such compassion upon him and us as 
thy holy office teaches. Never shall good deed so higlily 
advantage thy convent.” 

“ Daughter,” answered Cedric, much embarrassed, 
“my time in this castle will not permit me to exercise 
the duties of mine office. I must presently forth : there 
is life and death upon my speed.” 

“ Yet, father, let me entreat you by the vow you 
have taken on you,” replied the suppliant, “not to 
leave the oppressed and endangered without counsel or 
succour.” 

“May the fiend fly away with me, and leave me in 
Ifrin with the souls of Odin and of Thor!” answered 
Cedric, impatiently, and would probably have proceeded 
in the same tone of total departure from his spiritual 
character, when the colloquy was interrupted by the 
harsh voice of Urfried, the old crone of the turret. 


IVANHOE 


201 


“ How, minion,” said she to the female speaker, “ is 
thi? the manner in which you requite the kindness which 
permitted thee to leave thy prison-cell yonder? Puttest 
thou the reverend man to use ungracious language to 
free himself from the importunities of a Jewess?” 

“A Jewess!” said Cedric, availing himself of the in- 
formation to get clear of their interruption. “ Let me 
pass, woman I stop me not at your peril. I am fresh 
from my holy office, and would avoid pollution.” 

“ Come this way, father,” said the old hag, “ thou art 
a stranger in this castle, and canst not leave it without 
a guide. Come hither, for I would speak with thee. 
And you, daughter of an accursed race, go to the sick 
man’s chamber, and tend him until my return ; and woe 
betide you if you again quit it without my permission ! ” 

Rebecca retreated. Her importunities had prevailed 
upon Urfried to suffer her to quit the turret, and Ur- 
fried had employed her services where she herself would 
most gladly have paid them, by the bedside of the 
wounded Ivanhoe. With an understanding awake to 
their dangerous situation, and prompt to avail herself 
of each means of safety which occurred, Rebecca had 
hoped something from the presence of a man of religion, 
who, she learned from Urfried, had penetrated into this 
godless castle. She watched the return of the supposed 
ecclesiastic, with the purpose of addressing him, and 
interesting him in favour of the prisoners ; with what 
imperfect success the reader has been just acquainted. 


292 


IVANIIOE 


CHAPTER XXVII 

Fond wretch! and what canst thou relate, 

But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin ? 

Thy deeds are proved — tliou know’st thy fate; 

But come, thy tale! begin — begin. 

But I have griefs of other kind, 

Troubles and sorrows more severe; 

Give me to ease my tortured mind. 

Lend to my woes a patient ear; 

And let me, rf I may not find 

A friend to help, find one to hear. 

Crabbe’s Hall of Justice, 

W HEN Urfried had with clamours and men- 
aces driven Rebecca back to the apartment 
from which she had sallied, she proceeded to 
conduct the unwilling Cedric into a small apartment, 
the door of wliich she heedfully secured. Then fetching 
from a cupboard a stoup of wine and two flagons, she 
placed them on the table, and said in a tone rather 
asserting a fact than asking a question, “ Thou art 
Saxon, father. Deny it not,” she continued, observing 
that Cedric hastened not to reply; “the sounds of my 
native language are sweet to mine ears, though seldom 
heard save from the tongues of the wretched and de- 
graded serfs on whom the proud Normans impose the 
meanest drudgery of this dwelling. Thou art a Saxon, 
father — a Saxon, and, save as thou art a servant of 
God, a freeman. Thine accents are sweet in mine ear.” 

“Do not Saxon priests visit this castle, then.?^” re- 
plied Cedric ; “ it were, methinks, their duty to comfort 
the outcast and oppressed children of the soil.” 

“ They come not ; or if they come, they better love 
to revel at the board of their conquerors,” answered 
Urfried, “ than to hear the groans of their countrymen ; 
so, at least, report speaks of them, of myself I can say 


IVANHOE 


293 


little. This castle, for ten years, has opened to no 
priest save the debauched Norman chaplain who par- 
took the nightly revels of Front-de-Boeuf, and he has 
been long gone to render an account of his stewardsliip. 
But thou art a Saxon — a Saxon priest, and I have 
one question to ask of thee.” 

“ I am a Saxon,” answered Cedric, “ but unworthy, 
surely, of the name of priest. Let me begone on my 
way. I swear I will return, or send one of our fathers 
more worthy to hear your confession.” 

“Stay yet a while,” said Urfried; “the accents of 
the voice which thou hearest now will soon be choked 
with the cold earth, and I would not descend to it like 
the beast I have hved. But wine must give me strength 
to tell the horrors of my tale.” She poured out a cup, 
and drank it with a frightful avidity, which seemed 
desirous of draining the last drop in the goblet. “ It 
stupefies,” she said, looking upwards as she finished her 
draught, “but it cannot cheer. Partake it, father, if 
you would hear my tale without sinking down upon the 
pavement.” Cedric would have avoided pledging her 
in this ominous conviviality, but the sign which she 
made to him expressed impatience and despair. He 
complied with her request, and answered her challenge 
in a large wine-cup ; she then proceeded with her story, 
as if appeased by his complaisance. 

“ I was not born,” she said, “ father, the wretch that 
thou now seest me. I was free, was happy, was hon- 
oured, loved, and was beloved. I am now a slave, miser- 
able and degraded, the sport of my masters’ passions 
while I had yet beauty, the object of their contempt, 
scorn, and hatred, since it has passed away. Dost 
thou wonder, father, that I should hate mankind, and, 
above all, the race that has wrought this change 
in me.? Can the wrinkled decrepit hag before thee, 
whose wrath must vent itself in impotent curses, for- 
get she was once the daughter of the noble thane of 


294 IVANHOE 

Torquilstone, before whose frown a thousand vassals 
trembled? ” 

“ Thou the daughter of Torquil Wolfganger ! ” said 
Cedric, receding as he spoke ; “ thou — thou — the 
daughter of that noble Saxon, my father’s friend and 
companion in arms ! ” 

“ Thy father’s friend ! ” echoed Urfried ; “ then 
Cedric called the Saxon stands before me, for the 
noble Hereward of Rotherwood had but one son, whose 
name is well known among his countrymen. But if thou 
art Cedric of Rotherwood, why this religious dress ? hast 
thou too despaired of saving thy country, and sought 
refuge from oppression in the shade of the convent?” 

“ It matters not who I am,” said Cedric ; “ proceed, un- 
happy woman, with thy tale of horror and guilt ! Guilt 
there must be ; there is guilt even in thy living to tell it.” 

“There is — there is,” answered the wretched 
woman, “ deep, black, damning guilt — guilt that lies 
like a load at my breast — guilt that all the penitential 
fires of hereafter cannot cleanse. Yes, in these halls, 
stained with the noble and pure blood of my father and 
my brethren — in these very halls, to have lived the 
paramour of their murderer, the slave at once and the 
partaker of his pleasures, was to render every breath 
which I drew of vital air a crime and a curse.” 

“ Wretched woman ! ” exclaimed Cedric. “ And while 
the friends of thy father — while each true Saxon 
heart, as it breathed a requiem for his soul, and those 
of his valiant sons, forgot not in their prayers the 
murdered Ulrica — while all mourned and honoured 
the dead, thou hast lived to merit our hate and execra- 
tion — lived to unite thyself with the vile tyrant who 
murdered thy nearest and dearest, who shed the blood 
of infancy rather than a male of the noble house of Tor- 
quil Wolfganger should survive — with him hast thou 
lived to unite thyself, and in the bands of lawless love ! ” 

“ In lawless bands, indeed, but not in those of love ! ” 


IVANHOE 


295 


answered the hag ; “ love will sooner visit the regions 
of eternal doom than those unhallowed vaults. No ; 
with that at least I cannot reproach myself : hatred 
to Front-de-Boeuf and his race governed my soul most 
deeply, even in the hour of his guilty endearments.” 

“ You hated him, and yet you lived,” replied Cedric ; 
“ wretch ! was there no poniard — no knife — no bodkin ! 
Well was it for thee, since thou didst prize such an 
existence, that the secrets of a Norman castle are like 
those of the grave. For had I but dreamed of the 
daughter of Torquil living in foul communion with 
the murderer of her father, the sword of a true Saxon 
had found thee out even in the arms of thy paramour! ” 

“Wouldst thou indeed have done this justice to the 
name of Torquil.'^” said Ulrica, for we may now lay 
aside her assumed name of Urfried; “thou art then 
the true Saxon report speaks thee I for even within 
these accursed walls, where, as thou well sayest, guilt 
shrouds itself in inscrutable mystery — even there has 
the name of Cedric been sounded; and I, wretched and 
degraded, have rejoiced to think that there yet breathed 
an avenger of our unhappy nation. I also have had 
my hours of vengeance. I have fomented the quarrels 
of our foes, heated drunken revelry into murderous 
broil. I have seen their blood flow — I have heard their 
dying groans I Look on me, Cedric ; are there not 
still left on this foul and faded face some traces of the 
features of Torquil?” 

“Ask me not of them, Ulrica,” replied Cedric, in a 
tone of grief mixed with abhorrence ; “ these traces form 
such a resemblance as arises from the grave of the dead 
when a fiend has animated the lifeless corpse.” 

“ Be it so,” answered Ulrica, “ yet were these fiendish 
features the mask of a spirit of light when they were 
able to set at variance the elder Front-de-Boeuf and his 
son Reginald! The darkness of hell should hide what 
followed; but revenge must lift the veil, and darkly 


296 


IVANHOE 


intimate what it would raise the dead to speak aloud. 
Long had the smouldering fire of discord glowed between 
the tyrant father and his savage son ; long had I 
nursed, in secret, the unnatural hatred ; it blazed forth 
in an hour of drunken wassail, and at his own board fell 
my oppressor by the hand of his own son : such are the 
secrets these vaults conceal ! Rend asunder, ye accursed 
arches,” she added, looking up towards the roof, “ and 
bury in your fall all who are conscious of the hideous 
mystery ! ” 

“ And thou, creature of guilt and misery,” said Cedric, 
“what became thy lot on the death of thy ravisher?” 

“Guess it, but ask it not. Here — here I dwelt, till 
age, premature age, has stamped its ghastly features 
on my countenance — scorned and insulted where I was 
once obeyed, and compelled to bound the revenge which 
had once such ample scope to the efforts of petty malice 
of a disconfented menial, or the vain or unheeded curses 
of an impotent hag ; condemned to hear from my lonely 
turret the sounds of revelry in which I once partook, or 
the shrieks and groans of new victims of oppression.” 

“Ulrica,” said Cedric, “with a heart which still, I 
fear, regrets the lost reward of thy crimes, as much as 
the deeds by which thou didst acquire that meed, how 
didst thou dare to address thee to one who wears this 
robe.? Consider, unhappy woman, what could the 
sainted Edward himself do for thee, were he here in 
bodily presence? The royal Confessor was endowed by 
Heaven with power to cleanse the ulcers of the body; 
but only God Himself can cure the leprosy of the soul.” 

“Yet, turn not from me, stern prophet of wrath,” 
she exclaimed, “ but tell me, if thou canst, in what shall 
terminate these new and awful feelings that burst on 
my solitude. Wh^^ do deeds, long since done, rise be- 
fore me in new and irresistible horrors? What fate is 
prepared beyond the grave for her to whom God has as- 
signed on earth a lot of such unspeakable wretchedness ? 


IVANHOE 


297 


Better had I turn to Woden, Hertha, and Zernebock, 
to Mista, and to Skogula, the gods of our yet unbap- 
tized ancestors, than endure the dreadful anticipations 
which have of late haunted my waking and my sleeping 
hours ! ” 

“ I am no priest,” said Cedric, turning with disgust 
from this miserable picture of guilt, wretchedness, and 
despair — “I am no priest, though I wear a priest’s 
garment.” 

“Priest or layman,” answered Ulrica, “thou art 
the first I have seen for twenty years by whom God 
was feared or man regarded; and dost thou bid me 
despair F ” 

“ I bid thee repent,” said Cedric. “ Seek to prayer 
and penance, and mayest thou find acceptance! But 
I cannot, I will not, longer abide with thee.” 

“ Stay yet a moment ! ” said Ulrica ; “ leave me not 
now, son of my father’s friend, lest the demon who has 
governed my life should tempt me to avenge myself of 
thy hard-hearted scorn. Thinkest thou, if Front-de- 
Boeuf found Cedric the Saxon in his castle, in such a 
disguise, that thy life would be a long one.?^ Already 
his eye has been upon thee like a falcon on his prey.” 

“ And be it so,” said Cedric ; “ and let him tear me 
with beak and talons, ere my tongue say one word which 
my heart doth not warrant. I will die a Saxon — true 
in word, open in deed. I bid thee avaunt ! touch me not, 
stay me not! The sight of Front-de-Boeuf himself is 
less odious to me than thou, degraded and degenerate 
as thou art.” 

“ Be it so,” said Ulrica, no longer interrupting him ; 
“go thy way, and forget, in the insolence of thy supe- 
riority, that the wretch before thee is the daughter of 
thy father’s friend. Go thy way; if I am separated 
from mankind by my sufferings — separated from those 
whose aid I might most justly expect — not less will 
I be separated from them in my revenge ! No man shall 


298 


IVANHOE 


aid me, but the ears of all men shall tingle to hear of 
the deed which I shall dare to do! Farewell! thy scorn 
has burst the last tie which seemed yet to unite me to 
my kind — a thought that my woes might claim the 
compassion of my people.” 

“ Ulrica,” said Cedric, softened by this appeal, “ hast 
thou borne up and endured to live through so much 
guilt and so much misery, and wilt thou now yield to 
despair when thine eyes are opened to thy crimes, and 
when repentance were thy fitter occupation.?” 

“ Cedric,” answered Ulrica, “ thou little knowest the 
human heart. To act as I have acted, to think as I 
have thought, requires the maddening love of pleasure, 
mingled with the keen appetite of revenge, the proud 
consciousness of power — draughts too intoxicating for 
the human heart to bear, and yet retain the power to 
prevent. Their force has long passed away. Age has 
no pleasures, wrinkles have no influence, revenge itself 
dies away in impotent curses. Then comes remorse, 
with all its vipers, mixed with vain regrets for the past 
and despair for the future! Then, when all other 
strong impulses have ceased, we become like the fiends 
in hell, who may feel remorse, but never repentance. 
But thy words have awakened a new soul within me. 
Well hast thou said, all is possible for those who dare 
to die ! Thou hast shown me the means of revenge, and 
be assured I will embrace them. It has hitherto shared 
this wasted bosom with other and with rival passions ; 
henceforward it shall possess me wholly, and thou thy- 
self shalt say that, whatever was the life of Ulrica, her 
death well became the daughter of the noble Torquil. 
There is a force without beleaguering this accursed 
castle ; hasten to lead them to the attack, and when thou 
shalt see a red flag wave from the turret on the eastern 
angle of the donjon, press the Normans hard: they 
will then have enough to do within, and you may win the 
wall in spite both of bow and mangonel. Begone, I 


IVANHOE 299 

pray thee ; follow thine own fate, and leave me to 
mine.” 

Cedric would have inquired further into the purpose 
which she thus darkly announced, but the stern voice 
of Front-de-Boeuf was heard exclaiming, “Where tar- 
ries this loitering priest.? By the scollop-shell of Com- 
postella, I will make a martyr of him, if he loiters here 
to hatch treason among my domestics ! ” 

“What a true prophet,” said Ulrica, “is an evil 
conscience ! But heed him not ; out and to thy people. 
Cry your Saxon onslaught; and let them sing their 
war-song of Rollo, if they will, vengeance shall bear a 
burden to it.” 

As she thus spoke, she vanished through a private 
door, and Reginald Front-de-Boeuf entered the apart- 
ment. Cedric, with some difficulty, compelled himself 
to make obeisance to the haughty Baron, who returned 
his courtesy with a slight inclination of the head. 

“ Thy penitents, father, have made a long shrift ; 
it is the better for them, since it is the last they shall 
ever make. Hast thou prepared them for death ? ” 

“I found them,” said Cedric, in such French as he 
could command, “ expecting the worst, from the mo- 
ment they knew into whose power they had fallen.” 

“ How now. Sir Friar,” replied Front-de-Boeuf, “ thy 
speech, methinks, smacks of a Saxon tongue?” 

“ I was bred in the convent of St. Withold of Bur- 
ton,” answered Cedric. 

“Ay? ” said the Baron ; “ It had been better for thee 
to have been a Norman, and better for my purpose too ; 
but need has no choice of messengers. That St. With- 
old’s of Burton is a howlet’s nest worth the harrying. 
The day will soon come that the frock shall protect the 
Saxon as little as the mail-coat.” 

“ God’s will be done,” said Cedric, in a voice tremu- 
lous with passion, which Front-de-Boeuf imputed to 
fear. 


300 


IVANHOE 


“ I see,” said he, “ thou dreamest already that our 
men-at-arms are in thy refectory and thy ale-vaults. 
But do me one cast of thy holy office, and, come what 
list of others, thou shalt sleep as safe in thy cell as a 
snail within his shell of proof.” 

“ Speak your commands,” said Cedric, with sup- 
pressed emotion. 

“ Follow me through this passage, then, that I may 
dismiss thee by the postern.” 

And as he strode on his way before the supposed 
friar, Front-de-Boeuf thus schooled him in the part 
which he desired he should act. 

“Thou seest. Sir Friar, yon herd of Saxon swine, 
who have dared to environ this castle of Torquilstone. 
Tell them whatever thou hast a mind of the weakness 
of this fortalice, or aught else that can detain them 
before it for twenty-four hours. Meantime bear thou 
this scroll. But soft — canst read. Sir Priest 

“Not a -jot I,” answered Cedric, “ save on my brevi- 
ary ; and then I know the characters, because I have 
the holy service by heart, praised be Our Lady and St. 
Withold!” 

“ The fitter messenger for my purpose. Carry thou 
this scroll to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin ; say it 
cometh from me, and is written by the Templar Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert, and that I pray him to send it to York 
with all the speed man and horse can make. Mean- 
while, tell him to doubt nothing, he shall find us whole 
and sound behind our battlement. Shame on it, that 
we should be compelled to hide thus by a pack of runa- 
gates, who are wont to fly even at the flash of our pen- 
nons and the tramp of our horses ! I say to thee, priest, 
contrive some cast of thine art to keep the knaves where 
they are, until our friends bring up their lances. My 
vengeance is awake, and she is a falcon that slumbers 
not till she has been gorged.” 

“By my patron saint,” said Cedric, with deeper 


IVANHOE 


301 


energy than became his character, “ and by every saint 
who has lived and died in England, your commands shall 
be obeyed! Not a Saxon shall stir from before these 
walls, if I have art and influence to detain them there.” 

“ Ha I ” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ thou changest thy 
tone. Sir Priest, and speakest brief and bold, as if thy 
heart were in the slaughter of the Saxon herd ; and yet 
thou art thyself of kindred to the swine ? ” 

Cedric was no ready practiser of the art of dissimu- 
lation, and would at this moment have been much the 
better of a hint from Wamba’s more fertile brain. But 
necessity, according to the ancient proverb, sharpens 
invention, and he muttered something under his cowl 
concerning the men in question being excommunicated 
outlaws both to church and to kingdom. 

Despardieux,’* answered Front-de Boeuf, “thou hast 
spoken the very truth: I forgot that the knaves can 
strip a fat abbot as w^ell as if they had been born south 
of yonder salt channel. Was it not he of St. Ives whom 
they tied to an oak-tree, and compelled to sing a mass 
while they were rifling his mails and his wallets.? No, 
by Our Lady, that jest was played by Gualtier of 
Middleton, one of our own companions-at-arms. But 
they were Saxons who robbed the chapel at St. Bees of 
cup, candlestick, and chalice, were they not ? ” 

“ They were godless men,” answered Cedric. 

“Ay, and they drank out all the good wine and ale 
that lay in store for many a secret carousal, when ye 
pretend ye are but busied with vigils and primes ! 
Priest, thou art bound to revenge such sacrilege.” 

“ I am indeed bound to vengeance,” murmured 
Cedric; “St. Withold knows my heart.” 

Front-de-Boeuf, in the meanwhile, led the way to a 
postern, where, passing the moat on a single plank, they 
reached a small barbican, or exterior defence, which 
communicated with the open field by a well-fortified 
sallyport. 


302 


IVANHOE 


“ Begone, then ; and if thou wilt do mine errand, and 
if thou return hither when it is done, thou shalt see 
Saxon flesh cheap as ever was hog’s in the shambles of 
Sheffield. And, hark thee, thou seemest to be a jolly 
confessor; come hither after the onslaught, and thou 
shalt have as much Malvoisie as would drench thy 
whole convent.” 

“ Assuredly we shall meet again,” answered Cedric. 

“ Something in hand the whilst,” continued the Nor- 
man ; and, as they parted at the postern door, he thrust 
into Cedric’s reluctant hand a gold byzant, adding, 
‘‘Remember, I will flay off both cowl and skin if thou 
failest in thy purpose.” 

“And full leave will I give thee to do both,” an- 
swered Cedric, leaving the postern, and striding forth 
over the free fleld with a joyful step, “ if, when we meet 
next, I deserve not better at thine hand.” Turning 
then back towards the castle, he threw the piece of gold 
towards the donor, exclaiming at the same time, “False 
Norman, thy money perish with thee!” 

Front-de-Boeuf heard the words imperfectly, but the 
action was suspicious. “Archers,” he called to the 
warders on the outward battlements, “ send me an arrow 
through yon monk’s frock! Yet stay,” he said, as his 
retainers were bending their bows, “ it avails not ; we 
must thus far trust him since we have no better shift. 
I think he dares not betray me ; at the worst I can but 
treat with these Saxon dogs whom I have safe in kennel. 
Ho ! Giles j ailer, let them bring Cedric of Rotherwood 
before me, and the other churl, his companion — him 
I mean of Coningsburgh — Athelstane there, or what 
call they him.^^ Their very names are an encumbrance 
to a Norman knight’s mouth, and have, as it were, a 
flavour of bacon. Give me a stoup of wine, as jolly 
Prince John said, that I may wash away the relish; 
place it in the armory, and thither lead the prisoners.” 

His commands were obeyed ; and, upon entering that 


IVANIIOE 


303 


Gothic apartment, hung with many spoils won by his 
own valour and that of his father, he found a flagon of 
wine on the massive oaken table, and the two Saxon 
captives under the guard of four of his dependants. 
Front-de-Boeuf took a long draught of wine, and then 
addressed his prisoners ; for the manner in which 
Wamba drew the cap over his face, the change of 
dress, the gloomy and broken light, and the Baron’s 
imperfect acquaintance with the features of Cedric, who 
avoided his Norman neighbours, and seldom stirred 
beyond his own domains, prevented him from discover- 
ing that the most important of his captives had made 
his escape. 

‘‘Gallants of England,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “how 
relish ye your entertainment at Torquilstone.^ Are 
ye yet aware what your surquedy and outrecuidance 
merit, for scoffing at the entertainment of a prince of 
the house of Anjou? Have ye forgotten how ye re- 
quited the unmerited hospitality of the royal John? 
By God and St. Denis, an ye pay not the richer ran- 
som, I will hang ye up by the feet from the iron bars 
of these windows, till the kites and hooded crows have 
made skeletons of you ! Speak out, ye Saxon dogs — 
what bid ye for your worthless lives? How say you, 
you of Rotherwood ? ” 

“Not a doit I,” answered poor Wamba; “and for 
hanging up by the feet, my brain has been topsy-turvy, 
they say, ever since the biggin was bound first round 
my head ; so turning me upside down may peradven- 
ture restore it again.” 

“ St. Genevieve ! ” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ what have 
we got here? ” 

And with the back of his hand he struck Cedric’s cap 
from the head of the Jester, and throwing open his 
collar, discovered the fatal badge of servitude, the 
silver collar round his neck. 

“Giles — Clement — dogs and varlets!” exclaimed 


304 IVANHOE 

the furious Norman, “ what have you brought me 
here? ” 

“I think I can tell you,” said De Bracy, who just 
entered the apartment. “ This is Cedric’s clown, who 
fought so manfully a skirmish with Isaac of York about 
a question of precedence.” 

“ I shall settle it for them both,” replied Front-de- 
Boeuf ; “ they shall hang on the same gallows, unless 
his master and this boar of Coningsburgh will pay well 
for their lives. Their wealth is the least they can sur- 
render ; they must also carry off with them the swarms 
that are besetting the castle, subscribe a surrender of 
their pretended immunities, and live under us as serfs 
and vassals ; too happy if, in the new world that is 
about to begin, we leave them the breath of their nos- 
trils. Go,” said he to two of his attendants, “ fetch me 
the right Cedric hither, and I pardon your error for 
once; the rather that you but mistook a fool for a 
Saxon franklin.” 

“ Ay, but,” said Wamba, “ your chivalrous excellency 
will find there are more fools than franklins among us.” 

“ What means the knave? ” said Front-de-Boeuf, look- 
ing towards his followers, who, lingering and loath, 
faltered forth their belief that, if this were not Cedric 
who was there in presence, they knew not what was 
become of him. 

“ Saints of Heaven ! ” exclaimed De Bracy, “ he must 
have escaped in the monk’s garments ! ” 

“Fiends of hell!” echoed Front-de-Boeuf, “it was 
then the boar of Rotherwood whom I ushered to the 
postern, and dismissed with my own hands ! And thou,” 
he said to Wamba, “whose folly could overreach the 
wisdom of idiots yet more gross than thyself — I will 
give thee holy orders — I Avill shave thy crown for thee I 
Here, let them tear the scalp from his head, and then 
pitch him headlong from the battlements. Thy trade 
is to jest, canst thou jest now?” 


IVANHOE 


305 


“You deal with me better than your word, noble 
knight,” whimpered forth poor Wamba, whose habits 
of buffoonery were not to be overcome even by the im- 
mediate prospect of death ; “ if you give me the red cap 
you propose, out of a simple monk you will make a 
cardinal.” 

“ The poor wretch,” said De Bracy, “ is resolved to 
die in his vocation. Front-de-Boeuf , you shall not slay 
him. Give him to me to make sport for my Free Com- 
panions. How sayest thou, knave Wilt thou take 
heart of grace, and go to the wars with me.^ ” 

“Ay, with my master’s leave,” said Wamba; “for, 
look you, I must not slip collar (and he touched that 
which he wore) without his permission.” 

“ Oh, a Norman saw will soon cut a Saxon collar,” 
said De Bracy. 

“Ay, noble sir,” said Wamba, “and thence goes the 
proverb — 

‘ Norman saw on English oak, 

On English neck a Norman yoke; 

Norman spoon in English dish, 

And England ruled as Normans wish; 

Blithe world to England never will be more. 

Till England’s rid of all the four.’ ” 

“Thou dost well, De Bracy,” said Front-de-Boeuf, 
“to stand there listening to a fool’s jargon, when de- 
struction is gaping for us ! Seest thou not we are over- 
reached, and that our proposed mode of communicating 
with our friends without has been disconcerted by this 
same motley gentleman thou art so fond to brother? 
What views have we to expect but instant storm?” 

“ To the battlements then,” said De Bracy ; “ when 
didst thou ever see me the graver for the thoughts of 
battle? Call the Templar yonder, and let him fight 
but half as well for his life as he has done for his order. 
Make thou to the walls thyself with thy huge body. 
Let me do my poor endeavour in my own way, and I 

20 


306 


IVANHOE 


tell thee the Saxon outlaws may as well attempt to 
scale the clouds as the castle of Torquilstone ; or, if 
you will treat with the banditti, why not employ the 
mediation of this worthy franklin, who seems in such 
deep contemplation of the wine-flagon? Here, Saxon,” 
he continued, addressing Athelstane, and handing the 
cup to him, “ rinse thy throat with that noble liquor, 
and rouse up thy soul to say what thou wilt do for thy 
liberty.” 

“ What a man of mould may,” answered Athelstane, 
“ providing it be what a man of manhood ought. Dis- 
miss me free, with my companions, and I will pay a 
ransom of a thousand marks.” 

“And wilt moreover assure us the retreat of that 
scum of mankind who are swarming around the castle, 
contrary to God’s peace and the king’s?” said Front- 
de-Boeuf. 

“ In so far as I can,” answered Athelstane, “ I will 
withdraw them; and I fear not but that my father 
Cedric will do his best to assist me.” 

“We are agreed then,” said Front-de-Boeuf , “thou 
and they are to be set at freedom, and peace is to be 
on both sides, for payment of a thousand marks. It 
is a trifling ransom, Saxon, and thou wilt owe gratitude 
to the moderation which accepts of it in exchange of 
your persons. But mark, this extends not to the Jew 
Isaac.” 

“Nor to the Jew Isaac’s daughter,” said the Tem- 
plar, who had now joined them. 

“Neither,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “belong to this 
Saxon’s company.” 

“ I were unworthy to be called Christian, if they did,” 
replied Athelstane ; “ deal with the unbelievers as ye 
list.” 

“ Neither does the ransom include the Lady Rowena,” 
said De Bracy. “ It shall never be said I was scared 
out of a fair prize without striking a blow for it.” 


IVANHOE 


307 


“Neither,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “does our treaty 
refer to this wretched Jester, whom I retain, that I 
may make him an example to every knave who turns 
jest into earnest.” 

“ The Lady Rowena,” answered Athelstane, with the 
most steady countenance, “ is my affianced bride. I will 
be drawn by wild horses before I consent to part with 
her. The slave Wamba has this day saved the life of 
my father Cedric. I will lose mine ere a hair of his 
head be injured.” 

“Thy affianced bride! The Lady Rowena the affi- 
anced bride of a vassal like thee I ” said De Bracy. 
“ Saxon, thou dreamest that the days of thy seven king- 
doms are returned again. I tell thee, the princes of 
the house of Anjou confer not their wards on men of 
such lineage as thine.” 

“My lineage, proud Norman,” replied Athelstane, 
“is drawn from a source more pure and ancient than 
that of a beggarly Frenchman, whose living is won by 
selling the blood of the thieves whom he assembles under 
his paltry standard. Kings were my ancestors, strong 
in war and wise in council, who every day feasted in 
their hall more hundreds than thou canst number in- 
dividual followers ; whose names have been sung by 
minstrels, and their laws recorded by Witten agemotes ; 
whose bones were interred amid the prayers of saints, 
and over whose tombs minsters have been builded.” 

“ Thou hast it, De Bracy,” said Front-de-Boeuf, well 
pleased with the rebuff which his companion had re- 
ceived; “the Saxon hath hit thee fairly.” 

“ As fairly as a captive can strike,” said De Bracy, 
with apparent carelessness ; “ for he whose hands are 
tied should have his tongue at freedom. But the glib- 
ness of reply, comrade,” rejoined he, speaking to 
Athelstane, “will not win the freedom of the Lady 
Rowena*.” 

To this Athelstane, who had already made a longer 


308 


IVANHOE 


speech than was his custom to do on any topic, how- 
ever interesting, returned no answer. The conversation 
was interrupted by the arrival of a menial, who an- 
nounced that a monk demanded admittance at the 
postern gate. 

“ In the name of St. Bennet, the prince of these bull- 
beggars,” said Front-de-Boeuf , “have we a real monk 
this time, or another impostor.? Search him, slaves; 
for an ye suffer a second impostor to be palmed upon 
you, I will have your eyes tom out, and hot coals put 
into the sockets.” 

“Let me endure the extremity of your anger, my 
lord,” said Giles, “ if this be not a real shaveling. Your 
squire Jocelyn knows him well, and will vouch him to 
be Brother Ambrose, a monk in attendance upon the 
Prior of Jorvaulx.” 

“ Admit him,” said Front-de-Boeuf ; “ most likely he 
brings us news from his jovial master. Surely the 
devil keeps holiday, and the priests are relieved from 
duty, that they are strolling thus wildly through the 
country. Remove these prisoners ; and, Saxon, tliink 
on what thou hast heard.” 

“ I claim,” said Athelstane, “ an honourable impris- 
onment, with due care of my board and of my couch, as 
becomes my rank, and as is due to one who is in treaty 
for ransom. Moreover, I hold him that deems himself 
the best of you bound to answer to me with his body 
for this aggression on my freedom. This defiance hath 
already been sent to thee by thy sewer ; thou underliest 
it, and art bound to answer me. There lies my glove.” 

“ I answer not the challenge of my prisoner,” said 
Front-de-Boeuf, “nor shalt thou, Maurice de Bracy. 
Giles,” he continued, “ hang the franklin’s glove upon 
the tine of yonder branched antlers ; there shall it 
remain until he is a free man. Should he then presume 
to demand it, or to affirm he was unlawfully ifiade my 
prisoner, by the belt of St. Christopher, he will speak 


IVANHOE 


309 


to one who hath never refused to meet a foe on foot or 
on horseback, alone or with his vassals at his back ! ” 

The Saxon prisoners were accordingly removed, just 
as they introduced the monk Ambrose, who appeared 
to be in great perturbation. 

“ This is the real Deus vohiscum,^^ said Wamba, as 
he passed the reverend brother; “the others were but 
counterfeits.” 

“ Holy Mother ! ” said the monk, as he addressed the 
assembled knights, “ I am at last safe and in Christian 
keeping ! ” 

“ Safe thou art,” replied De Bracy, “ and for Chris- 
tianity, here is the stout Baron Reginald Front-de- 
Boeuf, whose utter abomination is a Jew; and the good 
Knight Templar, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whose trade 
is to slay Saracens. If these are not good marks of 
Christianity, I know no other which they bear about 
them.” 

“Ye are friends and allies of our reverend father in 
God, Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx,” said the monk, with- 
out noticing the tone of De Bracy’s reply ; “ ye owe him 
aid both by knightly faith and holy charity ; for what 
saith the blessed St. Augustin, in his treatise De Civi- 
tate Dei — ” 

“ What saith the devil ! ” interrupted Front-de-Boeuf ; 
“or rather what dost thou say. Sir Priest We have 
little time to hear texts from the holy fathers.” 

Sancta Maria! ejaculated Father Ambrose, “how 
prompt to ire are these unhallowed laymen ! But be it 
known to you, brave knights, that certain murderous 
caitiffs, casting behind them fear of God and reverence 
of His church, and not regarding the bull of the holy 
see. Si quis, suadente Diabolo — ” 

“Brother priest,” said the Templar, “all this we 
know or guess at; tell us plainly, is thy master, the 
Prior, made prisoner, and to whom.?” 

“ Surely,” said Ambrose, “ he is in the hands of the 


310 


IVANHOE 


men of Belial, infesters of these woods, and contemners 
of the holy text, ‘ Touch not mine anointed, and do my 
prophets nought of evil.’ ” 

“ Here is a new argument for our swords, sirs,” said 
Front-d^Boeuf , turning to his companions; “and so, 
instead of reaching us any assistance, the Prior of Jor- 
vaulx requests aid at our hands.?* A man is well helped 
of these lazy churchmen when he hath most to do ! But 
speak out, priest, and say at once what doth thy master 
expect from us.?*” 

“ So please you,” said Ambrose, “ violent hands hav- 
ing been imposed on my reverend superior, contrary to 
the holy ordinance which I did already quote, and the 
men of Belial having rifled his mails and budgets, and 
stripped him of two hundred marks of pure refined gold, 
they do yet demand of him a large sum besides, ere 
they will suffer him to depart from their uncircumcised 
hands. Wherefore the reverend father in God prays 
you, as his dear friends, to rescue him, either by pay- 
ing down the ransom at which they hold him, or by 
force of arms, at your best discretion.” 

“ The foul fiend quell the Prior ! ” said Front-de- 
Boeuf ; “ his morning’s draught has been a deep one. 
When did thy master hear of a Norman baron un- 
buckling his purse to relieve a churchman, whose bags 
are ten times as weighty as ours.?* And how can we do 
aught by valour to free him, that are cooped up here 
by ten times our number, and expect an assault every 
moment .?* ” 

“ And that was what I was about to tell you,” said the 
monk, “ had your hastiness allowed me time. But, God 
help me, I am old, and these foul onslaughts distract 
an aged man’s brain. Nevertheless, it is of verity that 
they assemble a camp, and raise a bank against the 
walls of this castle.” 

“ To the battlements ! ” cried De Bracy, “ and let us 
mark what these knaves do without ” ; and so saying, 


IVANHOE 


311 


he opened a latticed window which led to a sort of bar- 
tizan or projecting balcony, and immediately called 
from thence to those in the apartment — “St. Denis, 
but the old monk hath brought true tidings ! They 
bring forward mantelets and pavisses, and the archers 
muster on the skirts of the wood like a dark cloud be- 
fore a hail-storm.” 

Reginald Front-de-Boeuf also looked out upon the 
field, and immediately snatched his bugle; and after 
winding a long and loud blast, commanded his men to 
their posts on the walls. 

“ De Bracy, look to the eastern side where the walls 
are lowest. Noble Bois-Guilbert, thy trade hath well 
taught thee how to attack and defend, look thou to the 
western side. I myself will take post at the barbican. 
Yet, do not confine your exertions to any one spot, 
noble friends ! We must this day be everywhere, and 
multiply ourselves, were it possible, so as to carry by 
our presence succour and relief wherever the attack is 
hottest. Our numbers are few, but activity and cour- 
age may supply that defect, since we have only to do 
with rascal clowns.” 

“But, noble knights,” exclaimed Father Ambrose, 
amidst the bustle and confusion occasioned by the prep- 
arations for defence, “ will none of ye hear the message 
of the reverend father in God, Aymer, Prior of Jor- 
vaulx ? I beseech thee to hear me, n6ble Sir Reginald ! ” 

“ Go patter thy petitions to Heaven,” said the fierce 
Norman, “for we on earth have no time to listen to 
them. Ho ! there, Anselm ! see that seething pitch and 
oil are ready to pour on the heads of these audacious 
traitors. Look that the cross-bowmen lack not bolts. 
Fling abroad my banner with the old bull’s head ; the 
knaves shall soon find with whom they have to do this 
day ! ” 

“ But, noble sir,” continued the monk, persevering in 
his endeavours to draw attention, “consider my vows 


312 IVANHOE 

of obedience, and let me discharge myself of my supe- 
rior’s errand.” 

“Away with this prating dotard,” said Front-de- 
Boeuf ; “ lock him up in the chapel to tell his beads till 
the broil be over. It will be a new thing to the saints 
in Torquilstone to hear aves and paters ; they have not 
been so honoured, I trow, since they were cut out of 
stone.” 

“ Blaspheme not the holy saints. Sir Reginald,” said 
De Bracy, “ we shall have need of their aid to-day be- 
fore yon rascal rout disband.” 

“I expect little aid from their hand,” said Front-de- 
Boeuf, “unless we were to hurl them from the battle- 
ments on the heads of the villains. There is a huge 
lumbering St. Christopher yonder, sufficient to bear a 
whole company to the earth.” 

The Templar had in the meantime been looking out 
on the proceedings of the besiegers, with rather more 
attention than the brutal Front-de-Boeuf or his giddy 
companion. 

“ By the faith of mine order,” he said, “ these men 
approach with more touch of discipline than could have 
b^n judged, however they come by it. See ye how dex- 
terously they avail themselves of every cover which a 
tree or bush affords, and shun exposing themselves to 
the shot of our cross-bows.^ I spy neither banner nor 
pennon among them, and yet will I gage my golden 
chain that they are led on by some noble knight or 
gentleman, skilful in the practice of wars.” 

“ I espy him,” said De Bracy ; “ I see the waving of 
a knight’s crest, and the gleam of his armour. See 
yon tall man in the black mail, who is busied marshal- 
ling the farther troop of the rascaille yeomen ; by St. 
Denis, I hold him to be the same whom we called Le 
Noir Faineant^ who overthrew thee, Front-de-Boeuf, in 
the lists at Ashby.” 

“ So much the better,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ that he 


IVANHOE 


313 


comes here to give me my revenge. Some hilding fellow 
he must be, who dared not stay to assert his claim to 
the tourney prize which chance had assigned him. I 
should in vain have sought for him where knights and 
nobles seek their foes, and right glad am I he hath here 
shown himself among yon villain yeomanry.” 

The demonstrations of the enemy’s immediate ap- 
proach cut off all further discourse. Each knight re- 
paired to his post, and at the head of the few followers 
whom they were able to muster, and who were in num- 
bers inadequate to defend the whole extent of the walls, 
they awaited with calm determination the threatened 
assault. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

This wandering race, sever’d from other men, 

Boast yet their intercourse with human arts; 

The seas, the woods, the deserts, which they haunt, 

Find them acquainted with their secret treasures; 

And unregarded herbs, and flowers, and blossoms. 

Display undream’d-of powers when gather’d by them. 

The Jew. 

O UR history must needs retrograde for the space 
of a few pages, to inform the reader of certain 
passages material to his understanding the rest 
of this important narrative. His own intelligence may 
indeed have easily anticipated that, when Ivanhoe sunk 
down, and seemed abandoned by all the world, it was 
the importunity of Rebecca wliich prevailed on her 
father to have the gallant young warrior transported 
from the lists to the house which, for the time, the Jews 
inhabited in the suburbs of Ashby. 

It would not have been difficult to have persuaded 
Isaac to this step in any other circumstances, for his 
disposition was kind and grateful. But he had also 


314 


rVANHOE 


the prejudices and scrupulous timidity of his perse- 
cuted people, and those were to be conquered. 

“ Holy Abraham ! ” he exclaimed, “ he is a good 
youth, and my heart bleeds to see the gore trickle 
down his rich embroidered hacqueton, and his corslet 
of goodly price ; but to carry him to our house ! dam- 
sel, hast thou well considered? He is a Christian, and 
by our law we may not deal with the stranger and 
Gentile, save for the advantage of our commerce.” 

“ Speak not so, my dear father,” replied Rebecca ; 
“ we may not indeed mix with them in banquet and in 
jollity; but in wounds and in misery, the Gentile be- 
cometh the Jew’s brother.” 

“ I would I knew what the Rabbi Jacob ben Tudela 
would opine on it,” replied Isaac ; “ nevertheless, the 
good youth must not bleed to death. Let Seth and 
Reuben bear him to Ashby.” 

“Nay, let them place him in my litter,” said Re- 
becca ; “ I will mount one of the palfreys.” 

“ That were to expose thee to the gaze of those dogs 
of Ishmael and of Edom,” whispered Isaac, with a 
suspicious glance towards the crowd of knights and 
squires. But Rebecca was already busied in carrying 
her charitable purpose into effect, and listed not what 
he said, until Isaac, seizing the sleeve of her mantle, 
again exclaimed, in a hurried voice — “Beard of Aaron ! 
what if the youth perish! If he die in our custody, 
shall we not be held guilty of his blood, and be torn to 
pieces by the multitude ? ” 

“ He will not die, my father,” said Rebecca, gently 
extricating herself from the grasp of Isaac — “he will 
not die unless we abandon him ; and if so, we are indeed 
answerable for his blood to God and to man.” 

“Nay,” said Isaac, releasing his hold, “it grieveth 
me as much to see the drops of his blood as if they were 
so many golden byzants from mine own purse; and I 
well know that the lessons of Miriam, daughter of the 


IVANHOE 


315 


Rabbi Manasses of Byzantium, whose soul is in Para- 
dise, have made thee skilful in the art of healing, and 
that thou knowest the craft of herbs and the force of 
elixirs. Therefore, do as thy mind giveth thee: thou 
art a good damsel — a blessing, and a crown, and a 
song of rejoicing unto me and to my house, and unto 
the people of my fathers.” 

The apprehensions of Isaac, however, were not ill 
founded; and the generous and grateful benevolence 
of his daughter exposed her, on her return to Ashby, 
to the unhallowed gaze of Brian de Bois-Guilbert. The 
Templar twice passed and repassed them on the road, 
fixing his bold and ardent look on the beautiful Jewess ; 
and we have already seen the consequences of the ad- 
miration which her charms excited, when accident threw 
her into the power of that unprincipled voluptuary. 

Rebecca lost no time in causing the patient to be 
transported to their temporary dwelling, and proceeded 
with her own hands to examine and to bind up his 
wounds. The youngest reader of romances and roman- 
tic ballads must recollect how often the females, during 
the dark ages, as they are called, were initiated into 
the mysteries of surgery, and how frequently the gal- 
lant knight submitted the wounds of his person to her 
cure whose eyes had yet more deeply penetrated his 
heart. 

But the Jews, both male and female, possessed and 
practised the medical science in all its branches, and the 
monarchs and powerful barons of the time frequently 
committed themselves to the charge of some experi- 
enced sage among this despised people when wounded 
or in sickness. The aid of the Jewish physicians was 
not less eagerly sought after, though a general belief 
prevailed among the Christians that the Jewish rab- 
bins were deeply acquainted with the occult sciences, 
and particularly with the cabalistical art, which had 
its name and origin in the studies of the sages of Israel. 


316 


IVANHOE 


Neither did the rabbins disown such acquaintance with 
supernatural arts, which added nothing — for what 
could add aught ? — to the hatred with which the nation 
was regarded, while it diminished the contempt with 
which that malevolence was mingled. A Jewish magi- 
cian might be the subject of equal abhorrence with a 
Jewish usurer, but he could not be equally despised. 
It is, besides, probable, considering the wonderful cures 
they are said to have performed, that the Jews possessed 
some secrets of the healing art peculiar to themselves, 
and which, with the exclusive spirit arising out of their 
condition, they took great care to conceal from the 
Christians amongst whom they dwelt. 

The beautiful Rebecca had been heedfully brought 
up in all the knowledge proper to her nation, which her 
apt and powerful mind had retained, arranged, and en- 
larged, in the course of a progress beyond her years, 
her sex, and even the age in which she lived. Her knowl- 
edge of medicine and of the healing art had been ac- 
quired under an aged Jewess, the daughter of one of 
their most celebrated doctors, who loved Rebecca as her 
own child, and was believed to have communicated to 
her secrets which had been left to herself by her sage 
father at the same time, and under the same circum- 
stances. The fate of Miriam had indeed been to fall 
a sacrifice to the fanaticisms of the times ; but her 
secrets had survived in her apt pupil. 

Rebecca, thus endowed with knowledge as with 
beauty, was universally revered and admired by her 
own tribe, who almost regarded her as one of those 
gifted women mentioned in the sacred history. Her 
father himself, out of reverence for her talents, which 
involuntarily mingled itself with his unbounded affec- 
tion, permitted the maiden a greater liberty than was 
usually indulged to these of her sex by the habits of 
her people, and was, as w^e have just seen, frequently 
guided by her opinion, even in preference to his own. 


rVANHOE 


317 


Wlien Ivanhoe reached the habitation of Isaac, he 
was still in a state of unconsciousness, owing to the 
profuse loss of blood which had taken place during his 
exertions in the lists. Rebecca examined the wound, 
and having applied to it such vulnerary remedies as her 
art prescribed, informed her father that if fever could 
be averted, of which the great bleeding rendered her 
little apprehensive, and if the healing balsam of Miriam 
retained its virtue, there was nothing to fear for his 
guest’s life, and that he might with safety travel to 
York with them on the ensuing day. Isaac looked a 
little blank at this annunciation. His charity would 
willingly have stopped short at Ashby, or at most 
would have left the wounded Christian to be tended in 
the house where he was residing at present, with an 
assurance to the Hebrew to whom it belonged that all 
expenses should be duly discharged. To this, however, 
Rebecca opposed many reasons, of which we shall only 
mention two that had peculiar weight with Isaac. The 
one was, that she would on no account put the phial of 
precious balsam into the hands of another physician 
even of her own tribe, lest that valuable mystery should 
be discovered; the other, that this wounded knight, 
Wilfred of Ivanhoe, was an intimate favourite of 
Richard Coeur-de-Lion, and that, in case the monarch 
should return, Isaac, who had supplied his brother 
John with treasure to prosecute his rebellious purposes, 
would stand in no small need of a powerful protector 
who enjoyed Richard’s favour. 

“ Thou art speaking but sooth, Rebecca,” said Isaac, 
giving way to these weighty arguments: “it were an 
offending of Heaven to betray the secrets of the blessed 
IMiriam ; for the good which Heaven giveth is not rashly 
to be squandered upon others, whether it be talents of 
gold and shekels of silver, or whether it be the secret 
mysteries of a wise physician ; assuredly they should be 
preserved to those to whom Providence hath vouchsafed 


318 


IVANHOE 


them. And him whom the Nazarenes of England call 
the Lion’s Heart — assuredly it were better for me 
to fall into the hands of a strong lion of Idumea than 
into his, if he shall have got assurance of my dealings 
with his brother. Wherefore I will lend ear to thy 
counsel, and this youth shall journey with us to York, 
and our house shall be as a home to him until his wounds 
shall be healed. And if he of the Lion Heart shall 
return to the land, as is now noised abroad, then shall 
this Wilfred of Ivanhoe be unto me as a wall of de- 
fence, when the king’s displeasure shall burn high 
against thy father. And if he doth not return, this 
Wilfred may natheless repay us our charges when he 
shall gain treasure by the strength of his spear and of 
his sword, even as he did yesterday and this day also. 
For the youth is a good youth, and keepeth the day 
which he appointeth, and restoreth that which he bor- 
roweth,.and succoureth the Israelite, even the child of 
my father’s house, when it is encompassed by strong 
thieves and sons of Belial.” 

It was not until evening was nearly closed that 
Ivanhoe was restored to consciousness of his situation. 
He awoke from a broken slumber, under the confused 
impressions which are naturally attendant on the re- 
covery from a state of insensibility. He was unable 
for some time to recall exactly to memory the circum- 
stances which had preceded his fall in the lists, or to 
make out any connected chain of the events in which 
he had been engaged upon the yesterday. A sense of 
wounds and injury, joined to great weakness and ex- 
haustion, was mingled with the recollection of blows 
dealt and received, of steeds rushing upon each other, 
overthrowing and overthrown, of shouts and clashing 
of arms, and all the heady tumult of a confused fight. 
An effort to draw aside the curtain of his couch was 
in some degree successful, although rendered difficult 
by the pain of his wound. 


IVANHOE 


319 


To his great surprise, he found himself in a room 
magnificently furnished, but having cushions instead 
of chairs to rest upon, and in other respects partaking 
so much of Oriental costume that he began to doubt 
whether he had not, during his sleep, been transported 
back again to the land of Palestine. The impression 
was increased when, the tapestry being drawn aside, 
a female foiTn, dressed in a rich habit, which partook 
more of the Eastern taste than that of Europe, glided 
through the door which it concealed, and was followed 
by a swarthy domestic. 

As the wounded knight was about to address this fair 
apparition, she imposed silence by placing her slender 
finger upon her ruby lips, while the attendant, ap- 
proaching him, proceeded to uncover Ivanhoe’s side, 
and the lovely Jewess satisfied herself that the bandage 
was in its place, and the wound doing well. She per- 
formed her task with a graceful and dignified simplicity 
and modesty, which might, even in more civilized days, 
have served to redeem it from whatever might seem 
repugnant to female delicacy. The idea of so young 
and beautiful a person engaged in attendance on a 
sick-bed, or in dressing the wound of one of a different 
sex, was melted away and lost in that of a beneficent 
being contributing her effectual aid to relieve pain, and 
to avert the stroke of death. Rebecca’s few and brief 
directions were given in the Hebrew language to the 
old domestic; and he, who had been frequently her 
assistant in similar cases, obeyed them without reply. 

The accents of an unknown tongue, however harsh 
they might have sounded when uttered by another, had, 
coming from the beautiful Rebecca, the romantic and 
pleasing effect which fancy ascribes to the charms pro- 
nounced by some beneficent fairy, unintelligible, indeed, 
to the ear, but from the sweetness of utterance and 
benignity of aspect which accompanied them touch- 
ing and affecting to the heart. Without making an 


320 


IVANHOE 


attempt at further question, Ivanhoe suffered them in 
silence to take the measures they thought most proper 
for his recovery ; and it was not until these were com- 
pleted, and his kind physician about to retire, that 
his curiosity could no longer be suppressed. “ Gentle 
maiden,” he began in the Arabian tongue, with which 
his Eastern travels had rendered him familiar, and 
which he thought most likely to be understood by the 
turbaned and caftaned damsel who stood before him — 
“ I pray you, gentle maiden, of your courtesy — ” 

But here he was interrupted by his fair physician, 
a smile which she could scarce suppress dimpling for 
an instant a face whose general expression was that 
of contemplative melancholy. “ I am of England, Sir 
Knight, and speak the English tongue, although my 
dress and my lineage belong to another climate.” 

“Noble damsel — ” again the Knight of Ivanhoe 
began, and again Rebecca hastened to interrupt him. 

“ Bestow not on me, Sir Knight,” she said, “ the epi- 
thet of noble. It is well you should speedily know that 
your handmaiden is a poor Jewess, the daughter of that 
Isaac of York to whom you were so lately a good and 
kind lord. It well becomes him and those of his house- 
hold to render to you such careful tendance as your 
present state necessarily demands.” 

I know not whether the fair Rowena would have been 
altogether satisfied with the species of emotion with 
which her devoted knight had hitherto gazed on the 
beautiful features, and fair form, and lustrous eyes 
of the lovely Rebecca — eyes whose brilliancy was 
shaded, and, as it were, mellowed, by the fringe of her 
long silken eyelashes, and which a minstrel would have 
compared to the evening star darting its rays through 
a bower of jessamine. But Ivanhoe was too good a 
Catholic to retain the same class of feelings towards a 
Jewess. This Rebecca had foreseen, and for this very 
purpose she had hastened to mention her father’s name 


IVANHOE 


321 

and lineage; yet — for the fair and wise daughter of 
Isaac was not without a touch of female weakness — 
she could not but sigh internally when the glance of 
respectful admiration, not altogether unmixed with 
tenderness, with which Ivanhoe had hitherto regarded 
his unknown benefactress, was exchanged at once for 
a manner cold, composed, and collected, and fraught 
with no deeper feeling than that which expressed a 
grateful sense of courtesy received from an unexpected 
quarter, and from one of an inferior race. It was not 
that Ivanhoe’s former carriage expressed more than 
that general devotional homage which youth alwavs 
pays to beauty ; yet it was mortifying that one word 
should operate as a spell to remove poor Rebecca, who 
could not be supposed altogether ignorant of her title 
to such homage, into a degraded class, to whom it could 
not be honourably rendered. 

But the gentleness and candour of Rebecca’s nature 
imputed no fault to Ivanhoe for sharing in the univer- 
sal prejudices of his age and religion. On the con- 
trary, the fair Jewess, though sensible her patient now 
regarded her as one of a race of reprobation, with 
whom it was disgraceful to hold any beyond the most 
necessary intercourse, ceased not to pay the same pa- 
tient and devoted attention to his safety and convales- 
cence. She* informed him of the necessity they were 
under of removing to York, and of her father’s resolu- 
tion to transport him thither, and tend him in his own 
house until his health should be restored. Ivanhoe 
expressed great repugnance to this plan, which he 
grounded on unwillingness to give further trouble to 
his benefactors. 

“Was there not,” he said, “in Ashby, or near it, 
some Saxon franklin, or even some wealthy peasant, 
who would endure the burden of a wounded country- 
man’s residence with him until he should be again able 
to bear his armour? Was there no convent of Saxon 

21 


322 


IVANHOE 


endowment, where he could be received? Or could he 
not be transported as far as Burton, where he was 
sure to find hospitality with Waltheolf, the Abbot of 
St. Withold’s, to whom he was related?” 

“Any, the worst of these harbourages,” said Re- 
becca, with a melancholy smile, “would unquestionably 
be more fitting for your residence than the abode of a 
despised Jew; yet. Sir Knight, unless you would dis- 
miss your physician, you cannot change your lodging. 
Our nation, as you well know, can cure wounds, though 
we deal not in inflicting them; and in our family, in 
particular, are secrets which have been handed down 
since the days of Solomon, and of which you have al- 
ready experienced the advantages. No Nazerene — 
I crave your forgiveness. Sir Knight — no Christian 
leech, within the four seas of Britain, could enable you 
to bear your corslet within a month.” 

“ And how soon wilt thou enable me to brook it ? ” 
said Ivanhoe, impatiently. 

“ Within eight days, if thou wilt be patient and con- 
formable to my directions,’^ replied Rebecca. 

“ By Our Blessed Lady,” said Wilfred, “ if it be not 
a sin to name her here, it is no time for me or any tme 
knight to be bedridden ; and if thou accomplish thy 
promise, maiden, I will pay thee with my casque full of 
crowns, come by them as I may.” 

“ I will accomplish my promise,” said Rebecca, “ and 
thou shalt bear thine armour on the eighth day from 
hence, if thou wilt grant me but one boon in the stead 
of the silver thou dost promise me.” 

“ If it be within my power, and such as a true Chris- 
tian knight may yield to one of thy people,” replied 
Ivanhoe, “I wiU grant thy boon blithely and thank- 
fully.” 

“Nay,” answered Rebecca, “I will but pray of thee 
to believe hencefoward that a Jew may do good service 
to a Christian, without desiring other guerdon than the 


IVANHOE 323 

blessing of the Great Father who made both Jew and 
Gentile.” 

“ It were sin to doubt it, maiden,” replied Ivanhoe ; 
“ and I repose myself on thy skill without further scm- 
ple or question, well trusting you will enable me to bear 
my corslet on the eighth day. And now, my kind leech, 
let me inquire of the news abroad. What of the noble 
Saxon Cedric and his household.'^ what of the lovely 
Lady — ” He stopt, as if unwilling to speak Row- 
ena’s name in the house of a Jew- — “Of her, I mean, 
who was named Queen of the tournament.?” 

“And who was selected by you. Sir Knight, to hold 
that dignity, with judgment which was admired as 
much as your valour,” replied Rebecca. 

The blood which Ivanhoe had lost did not prevent 
a flush from crossing his cheek, feeling that he had in- 
cautiously betrayed his deep interest in Rowena by the 
awkward attempt he had made to conceal it. 

“ It was less of her I would speak,” said he, “ than of 
Prince John ; and I would fain know somewhat of a 
faithful squire, and why he now attends me not.? ” 

“Let me use my authority as a leech,” answered 
Rebecca, “and enjoin you to keep silence, and avoid 
agitating reflections, whilst I apprise you of what you 
desire to know. Prince John hath broken off the tour- 
nament, and set forward in all haste towards York, 
with the nobles, knights, and churchmen of his party, 
after collecting such sums as they could wring, by fair 
means or foul, from those who are esteemed the wealthy 
of the land. It is said he designs to assume his brother’s 
crown.” 

“ Not without a blow struck in his defence,” said 
Ivanhoe, raising himself upon the couch, “ if there were 
but one true subject in England. I will fight for 
Richard’s title with the best of them — ay, one to two, 
in his just quarrel!” 

“ But that you may be able to do so,” said Rebecca, 


324 


IVANHOE 


touching his shoulder with her hand, ‘^you must now 
observe my directions, and remain quiet.” 

“ Time, maiden,” said Ivanhoe, “ as quiet as these 
disquieted times will permit. And of Cedric and his 
household ? ” 

“His steward came but brief while since,” said the 
Jewess, “panting with haste, to ask my father for cer- 
tain moneys, the price of wool the growth of Cedric’s 
flocks, and from him I learned that Cedric and Athel- 
stafie of Coningsburgh had left Prince John’s lodging 
in high displeasure, and were about to set forth on 
their return homeward.” 

“Went any lady with them to the banquet.'^” said 
Wilfred. 

“ The Lady Rowena,” said Rebecca, answering the 
question with more precision than it had been asked — 
“ the Lady Rowena went not to the Prince’s feast, and, 
as the steward reported to us, she is now on her journey 
back to Rotherwood with her guardian Cedric. And 
touching your faithful squire Gurth — ” 

“Ha!” exclaimed the knight, “knowest thou his 
name.? But thou dost,” he immediately added, “and 
well thou mayest, for it was from thy hand, and, as I 
am now convinced, from thine own generosity of spirit, 
that he received but yesterday a hundred zecchins.” 

“ Speak not of that,” said Rebecca, blushing deeply ; 
“ I see how easy it is for the tongue to betray what the 
heart would gladly conceal.” 

“ But this sum of gold,” said Ivanhoe, gravely, “ my 
honour is concerned in repaying it to your father.” 

“ Let it be as thou wilt,” said Rebecca, “ when eight 
days have passed away ; but think not, and speak not, 
now of aught that may retard thy recovery.” 

“ Be it so, kind maiden,” said Ivanhoe ; “ it were 
most ungrateful to dispute thy commands. But one 
word of the fate of poor Gurth, and I have done with 
questioning thee.” 


IVANHOE 


325 


“ I grieve to tell tliee, Sir Knight/’ answered the 
Jewess, “ that he is in custody by the order of Cedric.” 
And then obseiwing the distress which her communica- 
tion gave to Wilfred, she instantly added, “ But the 
steward Oswald said, that if nothing occurred to renew 
his master’s displeasure against him, he was sure that 
Cedric would pardon Gurth, a faithful serf, and one 
who stood high in favour, and who had but committed 
this error out of the love that he bore to Cedric’s son. 
And he said, moreover, that he and his comrades, and 
especially Wamba, the Jester, were resolved to warn 
Gurth to make his escape by the way, in case Cedric’s 
ire against him could not be mitigated.” 

“Would to God they may keep their purpose!” said 
Ivanhoe ; “ but it seems as if I were destined to bring 
ruin on whomsoever hath shown kindness to me. My 
king, by whom I was honoured and distinguished — 
thou seest that the brother most indebted to him is 
raising his arms to grasp his crown; my regard hath 
brought restraint and trouble on the fairest of her sex ; 
and now my father in his mood may slay this poor 
bondsman, but for his love and loyal service to me! 
Thou seest, maiden, what an ill-fated wretch thou dost 
labour to assist; be wise, and let me go, ere the mis- 
fortunes which track my footsteps like slot-hounds 
shall involve thee also in their pursuit.” 

“Nay,” said Rebecca, “thy weakness and thy grief. 
Sir Knight, make thee miscalculate the purposes of 
Heaven. Thou hast been restored to thy country when 
it most needed the assistance of a strong hand and a 
true heart, and thou hast humbled the pride of thine 
enemies and those of thy king, when their horn was 
most highly exalted; and for the evil which thou sus- 
tained, seest thou not that Heaven has raised thee a 
helper and a physician, even among the most despised 
of the land.?^ Therefore, be of good courage, and trust 
that thou art preserved for some marvel which thine 


826 


IVANIIOE 


arm shall work before this people. Adieu ; and having 
taken the medicine which I shall send thee by the hand 
of Reuben, compose thyself again to rest, that thou 
mayest be the more able to endure the journey on the 
succeeding day.’’ 

Ivanhoe was convinced by the reasoning, and obeyed 
the directions, of Rebecca. The draught which Reuben 
administered was of a sedative and narcotic quality, 
and secured the patient sound and undisturbed slum- 
bers. In the morning his kind physician found him en- 
tirely free from feverish symptoms, and fit to undergo 
the fatigue of a journey. 

was deposited in the horse-litter which had 
brought him from the lists, and every precaution taken 
for his travelling with ease. In one circumstance only 
even the entreaties of Rebecca were unable to secure 
sufficient attention to the accommodation of the wounded 
knight. Isaac, like the enriched traveller of Juvenal’s 
Tenth Satire, had ever the fear of robbery before his 
eyes, conscious that he would be alike accounted fair 
game by the marauding Norman noble and by the 
Saxon outlaw. He therefore journeyed at a great 
rate, and made short halts and shorter repasts, so that 
he passed by Cedric and Athelstane, who had several 
hours the start of him, but who had been delayed by 
their protracted feasting at the convent of St. With- 
old’s. Yet such was the virtue of Miriam’s balsam, 
or such the strength of Ivanhoe’s constitution, that he 
did not sustain from the hurried journey that incon- 
venience which his kind physician had apprehended. 

In another point of view, however, the Jew’s haste 
proved somewhat more than good speed. The rapidity 
with which he insisted on travelling bred several dis- 
putes between liim and the party whom he had hired 
to attend him as a guard. These men were Saxons, 
and not free by any means from the national love of 
ease and good living which the Normans stigmatized as 


IVANHOE 


S27 


laziness and gluttony. Reversing Shylock’s position, 
they had accepted the employment in hopes of feeding 
upon the wealthy Jew, and were very much displeased 
when they found themselves disappointed by the rapid- 
ity with which he insisted on their proceeding. They 
remonstrated also upon the risk of damage to their 
liorses by these forced marches. Finally, there arose 
betwixt Isaac and his satellites a deadly feud concern- 
ing the quantity of wine and ale to be allowed for con- 
sumption at each meal. And thus it happened, that 
when the alarm of danger approached, and that which 
Isaac feared was likely to come upon him, he was de- 
serted by the discontented mercenaries, on whose pro- 
tection he had relied without using the means necessary 
to secure their attachment. 

In this deplorable condition, the Jew, with his daugh- 
ter and her wounded patient, were found by Cedric, as 
has already been noticed, and soon afterwards fell into 
the power of De Bracy and his confederates. Little 
notice was at first taken of the horse-litter, and it might 
have remained behind but for the curiosity of De Bracy, 
who looked into it under the impression that it might 
contain the object of his enterprise, for Rowena had 
not unveiled herself. But De Br*acy’s astonishment 
was considerable when he discovered that the litter 
contained a wounded man, who, conceiving himself 
to have fallen into the power of Saxon outlaws, with 
whom his name might be a protection for himself and 
his friends, frankly avowed himself to be Wilfred of 
Ivanhoe. 

The ideas of chivalrous honour, which, amidst his 
wildness and levity, never utterly abandoned De Bracy, 
prohibited him from doing the knight any injury in 
his defenceless condition, and equally interdicted his 
betraying him to Front-de-Boeuf, who would have had 
no scruples to put to death, under any circumstances, 
the rival claimant of the fief of Ivanhoe. On the other 


328 


IVANIIOE 


hand, to liberate a suitor preferred by the Lady Row- 
ena, as the events of the tournament, and indeed 
Wilfred’s previous banishment from his father’s house, 
had made matter of notoriety, was a pitch far above the 
flight of De Bracy’s generosity. A middle course be- 
twixt good and evil was all which he found himself 
capable of adopting, and he commanded two of his own 
squires to keep close by the litter, and to suffer no one 
to approach it. If questioned, they were directed by 
their master to say that the empty litter of the Lady 
Rowena was employed to transport one of their com- 
rades who had been wounded in the scuffle. On arriving 
at Torquilstone, wLile the Knight Templar and the lord 
of that castle were each intent upon their own schemes, 
the one on the Jew’s treasure, and the other on his 
daughter, De Bracy’s squires conveyed Ivanhoe, still 
under the name of a wounded comrade, to a distant 
apartment. This explanation was accordingly returned 
by these men to Front-de-Boeuf , when he questioned 
them why they did not make for the battlements upon 
the alarm. 

“ A wounded companion ! ” he replied in great wrath 
and astonisliment. “No wonder that churls and yeo- 
men wax so presumptuous as even to lay leaguer before 
castles, and that clowns and swineherds send defiances 
to nobles, since men-at-arms have turned sick men’s 
nurses, and Free Companions are grown keepers of 
dying folks’ curtains, when the castle is about to be 
assailed. To the battlements, ye loitering villains ! ” he 
exclaimed, raising his stentorian voice till the arches 
around rung again — “to the battlements, or I will 
splinter your bones with this truncheon ! ” 

The men sulkily replied, “ That they desired nothing 
better than to go to the battlements, providing Front- 
de-Boeuf would bear them out with their master, who 
had commanded them to tend the dying man.” 

“ The dying man, knaves ! ” rejoined the baron ; “ I 


IVANHOE 


329 


promise thee, we shall all be dying men an we stand not 
to it the more stoutly. But I will relieve the guard upon 
this caitiff companion of yours. Here, Urfried — hag 
— fiend of a Saxon witch — hearest me not.?^ Tend 
me this bedridden fellow, since he must needs be tended, 
whilst these knaves use their weapons. Here be two 
arblasts, comrades, with windlaces and quarrels — to 
the barbican with you, and see you drive each bolt 
through a Saxon brain.” 

The men, who, like most of their description, were 
fond of enterprise and detested inaction, went joyfully 
to the scene of danger as they were commanded, and 
thus the charge of Ivanhoe was transferred to Urfried, 
or Ulrica. But she, whose brain was burning with re- 
membrance of injuries and with hopes of vengeance, 
was readily induced to devolve upon Rebecca the care 
of her patient. 


CHAPTER XXIX 

Ascend the watch-tower yonder, vahant soldier. 

Look on the field, and say how goes the battle. 

Schiller’s Maid of Orleans. 

A MOMENT of peril is often also a moment of 
open-hearted kindness and affection. We are 
thrown off our guard by the general agitation 
of our feelings, and betray the intensity of those which, 
at more tranquil periods, our prudence at least conceals, 
if it cannot altogether suppress them. In finding her- 
self once more by the side of Ivanhoe, Rebecca was as- 
tonished at the keen sensation of pleasure which she 
experienced, even at a time when all around them both 
was danger, if not despair. As she felt his pulse, and 
inquired after his health, there was a softness in her 
touch and in her accents, implying a kinder interest 


330 


IVANHOE 


than she would herself have been pleased to have 
voluntarily expressed. Her voice faltered and her hand 
trembled, and it was only the cold question of Ivanhoe, 
“ Is it you, gentle maiden ? ” which recalled her to her- 
self, and reminded her the sensations which she felt 
were not and could not be mutual. A sigh escaped, but 
it was scarce audible; and the questions which she 
asked the knight concerning his state of health were 
put in the tone of calm friendship. Ivanhoe answered 
her hastily that he was, in point of health, as well, and 
better, than he could have expected. “Thanks,” he 
said, “ dear Rebecca, to thy helpful skill.” 

“ He calls me dear Rebecca,” said the maiden to her- 
self, “ but it is in the cold and careless tone which ill 
suits the word. His war-horse, his hunting hound, are 
dearer to him than the despised Jewess ! ” 

“ My mind, gentle maiden,” continued Ivanhoe, “ is 
more disturbed by anxiety than my body with pain. 
From the speeches of these men who were my warders 
just now, I learn that I am a prisoner, and, if I judge 
aright of the loud hoarse voice wdiich even now de- 
spatched them hence on some military duty, I am in the 
castle of Front-de-Boeuf . If so, how will this end, or 
how can I protect Rowena and my father.?” 

“He names not the Jew or Jewess,” said Rebecca, 
internally ; “ yet what is our portion in him, and how 
justly am I punished by Heaven for letting my 
thoughts dwell upon him!” She hastened after this 
brief self-accusation to give Ivanhoe what information 
she could ; but it amounted only to this, that the Temp- 
lar Bois-Guilbert and the Baron Front-de-Boeuf were 
commanders within the castle; that it was beleaguered 
from without, but by whom she knew not. She added, 
that there was a Christian priest within the castle wdio 
might be possessed of more information. 

“A Christian priest! said the knight, joyfully; 
“ fetch him hither, Rebecca, if thou canst. Say a sick 


IVANHOE 


331 


man desires his ghostly counsel — say what thou wilt, 
but bring him ; something I must do or attempt, but 
how can I determine until I know how matters stand 
without? ” 

Rebecca, in compliance with the wishes of Ivanhoe, 
made that attempt to bring Cedric into the wounded 
knight’s chamber which w^as defeated, as we have al- 
ready seen, by the interference of Urfried, who had 
been also on the watch to intercept the supposed monk. 
Rebecca retired to communicate to Ivanhoe the result 
of her errand. 

They had not much leisure to regret the failure of 
this source of intelligence, or to contrive by what means 
it might be supplied; for the noise within the castle, 
occasioned by the defensive preparations, which had 
been considerable for some time, now increased into 
tenfold bustle and clamour. The heavy yet hasty step 
of the men-at-arms traversed the battlements, or re- 
sounded on the narrow and winding passages and stairs 
which led to the various bartizans and points of defence. 
The voices of the knights were heard, animating their 
followers, or directing means of defence, while their 
commands were often drowned in the clashing of ar- 
mour, or the clamorous shouts of those whom they ad- 
dressed. Tremendous as these sounds were, and yet 
more terrible from the aw’ful event which they presaged, 
there was a sublimity mixed with them which Rebecca’s 
high-toned mind could feel even in that moment of 
terror. Her eye kindled, although the blood fled from 
her cheeks ; and there was a strong mixture of fear, 
and of a thrilling sense of the sublime, as she repeated, 
half-whispering to herself, half-speaking to her com- 
panion, the sacred text — “The quiver rattleth — the 
glittering spear and the shield — the noise of the cap- 
tains and the shouting ! ” 

But Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublime 
passage, glowing with impatience at his inactivity, and 


S32 


IVANHOE 


with his ardent desire to mingle in the affray of which 
these sounds were the introduction. “ If I could but 
drag myself,” he said, “ to yonder window, that I 
might see how this brave game is like to go ! If I had 
but bow to shoot a shaft, or battle-axe to strike were it 
but a single blow for our deliverance! It is in vain — 
it is in vain — I am alike nerveless and weaponless ! ” 

“ Fret not thyself, noble knight,” answered Rebecca, 
“ the sounds hath ceased of a sudden ; it may be they 
join not battle.” 

“ Thou knowest nought of it,” said Wilfred, impa- 
tiently ; ‘‘ this dead pause only shows that the men are 
at their posts on the walls, and expecting an instant 
attack; what we have heard was but the distant mut- 
tering of the storm: it will burst anon in all its fury. 
Could I but reach yonder window I ” 

“Thou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt, noble 
knight,” replied his attendant. Observing his extreme 
solicitude, she firmly added, “ I myself will stand at the 
lattice, and describe to you as I can what passes 
without.” 

“ You must not — you shall not ! ” exclaimed Ivanhoe. 
“Each lattice, each aperture, will be soon a mark for 
the archers; some random shaft — ” 

“It shall be welcome!” murmured Rebecca, as with 
firm pace she ascended two or three steps, which led 
to the window of which they spoke. 

“ Rebecca — dear Rebecca ! ” exclaimed Ivanhoe, 
“this is no maiden’s pastime; do not expose thyself 
to wounds and death, and render me for ever miserable 
for having given the occasion; at least, cover thyself 
wdth yonder ancient buckler, and show as little of your 
person at the lattice as may be.” 

Following with wonderful promptitude the directions 
of Ivanhoe, and availing herself of the protection of 
the large ancient shield, which she placed against 
the lower part of the window, Rebecca, with tolerable 


IVANHOE 


333 


security to herself, could witness part of what was 
passing without the castle, and report to' Ivanhoe the 
preparations which the assailants were making for the 
storm. Indeed, the situation which she thus obtained 
was peculiarly favourable for this purpose, because, 
being placed on an angle of the main building, 
Rebecca could not only see what passed beyond the 
precincts of the castle, but also commanded a view of 
the outwork likely to be the first object of the medi- 
tated assault. It was an exterior fortification of no 
great height or strength, intended to protect the 
postern-gate, through which Cedric had been recently 
dismissed by Front-de-Boeuf . The castle moat divided 
this species of barbican from the rest of the fortress, so 
that, in case of its being taken, it was easy to cut off 
the communication with the main building, by withdraw- 
ing the temporary bridge. In the outwork was a sally- 
port corresponding to the postern of the castle, and the 
whole was surrounded by a strong palisade. Rebecca 
could observe, from the number of men placed for the 
defence of this post, that the besieged entertained ap- 
prehensions for its safety; and from the mustering of 
the assailants in a direction nearly opposite to the out- 
work, it seemed no less plain that it had been selected 
as a vulnerable point of attack. 

These appearances she hastily communicated to Ivan- 
hoe, and added, “ The skirts of the wood seem lined 
with archers, although only a few are advanced from its 
dark shadow.” 

“Under what banner.?” asked Ivanhoe. 

“Under no ensign of war which I can observe,” 
answered Rebecca. 

“A singular novelty,” muttered the knight, “to ad- 
vance to storiU such a castle without pennon or banner 
displayed ! Seest thou who they be that act as leaders ? ” 

“A knight, clad in sable armour, is the most con- 
spicuous,” said the Jewess; “he alone is armed from 


334 IVANHOE 

head to heel, and seems to assume the direction of all 
around him.” 

“ What device does he bear on his shield ? ” replied 
Ivanhoe. 

“ Something resembling a bar of iron, and a pad- 
lock painted blue on the black shield.” 

“ A fetterlock and shackle-bolt azure,” said Ivanhoe ; 
“ I know not who may bear the device, but well I ween 
it might now be mine own. Canst thou not see the 
motto ? ” 

“ Scarce the device itself at this distance,” replied 
Rebecca ; “ but when the sun glances fair upon his 
shield it shows as I tell you.” 

“ Seem there no other leaders ? ” exclaimed the anxious 
inquirer. 

“None of mark and distinction that I can behold 
from this station,” said Rebecca ; “ but doubtless the 
other side of the castle is also assailed. They appear 
even now preparing to advance — God of Zion protect 
us ! What a dreadful sight ! Those who advance first 
bear huge shields and defences made of plank ; the 
others follow, bending their bows as they come on. 
They raise their bows ! God of Moses, forgive the crea- 
tures Thou hast made ! ” 

Her description was here suddenly interrupted by 
the signal for assault, which was given by the blast of 
a shrill bugle, and at once answered by a flourish of 
the Norman trumpets from the battlements, which, 
mingled with the deep and hollow clang of the nakers 
(a species of kettle-drum), retorted in notes of defi- 
ance the challenge of the enemy. The shouts of both 
parties augmented the fearful din, the assailants cry- 
ing, “ St. George for merry England ! ” and the N or- 
mans answering them with cries of “Eri avant De 
Bracy! Beau-seant! Beau-seant! Front-de-Bccuf a la 
rescousse! ” according to the war-cries of their different 
commanders. 


IVANHOE 


335 


It was not, however, by clamour that the contest was 
to be decided, and the desperate efforts of the assailants 
were met by an equally vigorous defence on the part 
of the besieged. The archers, trained by their woodland 
pastimes to the most effective use of the long-bow, shot, 
to use the appropriate phrase of the time, so “ wholly 
together,” that no point at which a defender could 
show the least part of his person escaped their cloth- 
yard shafts. By this heavy discharge, which continued 
as thick and sharp as hail, while, notwithstanding, 
every arrow had its individual aim, and flew by scores 
together against each embrasure and opening in the 
parapets, as well as at every window where a defender 
either occasionally had post, or might be suspected to be 
stationed — by this sustained discharge, two or three 
of the garrison were slain and several others wounded. 
But, confident in their annour of proof, and in the 
cover which their situation afforded, the followers of 
Front-de-Boeuf and his allies showed an obstinacy in 
defence proportioned to the fury of the attack, and 
replied with the discharge of their large cross-bow^s, as 
w^ell as wdth their long-bows, slings, and other missile 
w^eapons, to the close and continued shower of arrows ; 
and, as the assailants w^ere necessarily but indiffer- 
ently protected, did considerably more damage than 
they received at their hand. The whizzing of shafts 
and of missiles on both sides was only interrupted by 
the shouts which arose when either side inflicted or 
sustained some notable loss. 

‘‘ And I must lie here like a bedridden monk,” ex- 
claimed Ivanhoe, “ while the game that gives me free- 
dom or death is played out by the hand of others ! Look 
from the window once again, kind maiden, but beware 
that you are not marked by the archers beneath. Look 
out once more, and tell me if they yet advance to the 
storm.” 

With patient courage, strengthened by the interval 


336 


IVANHOE 


which she had employed in mental devotion, Rebecca 
again took post at the lattice, sheltering herself, how- 
ever, so as not to be visible from beneath. 

“ What dost thou see, Rebecca ? ” again demanded 
the wounded knight. 

“Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as 
to dazzle mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot 
them.” 

“ That cannot endure,” said Ivanhoe ; “ if they press 
not right on to carry the castle by pure force of arms, 
the archery may avail but little against stone walls and 
bulwarks. Look for the Knight of the Fetterlock, fair 
Rebecca, and see how he bears himself ; for as the leader 
is, so will his followers be.” 

“ I see him not,” said Rebecca. 

“Foul craven!” exclaimed Ivanhoe; “does he blench 
from the helm when the wind blows highest.^” 

“ He blenches not ! — he blenches not 1 ” said Rebecca, 
“ I see him now ; he heads a body of men close under the 
outer barrier of the barbican. They pull down the piles 
and palisades ; they hew down the barriers with axes. 
His high black plume floats abroad over the throng, 
like a raven over the field of the slain. They have 
made a breach in the barriers — they rush in — they 
are thrust back I Front-de-Boeuf heads the defenders; 
I see his gigantic form above the press. They throng 
again to the breach, and the pass is disputed hand to 
hand, and man to man. God of Jacob ! it is the meeting 
of two fierce tides — the conflict of two oceans moved by 
adverse winds ! ” 

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable 
longer to endure a sight so terrible. 

“ Look forth again, Rebecca,” said Ivanhoe, mistak- 
ing the cause of her retiring ; “ the archery must in 
some degree have ceased, since they are now fighting 
hand to hand. Look again, there is now less danger.” 

Rebecca again looked forth, and almost Immediately 


IVANHOE 


337 


exclaimed, “ Holy prophets of the law ! Front-de- 
Boeuf and the Black Knight fight hand to hand on the 
breach, amid the roar of their followers, who watch the 
progress of the strife. Heaven strike with the cause of 
the oppressed and of the captive ! ” She then uttered 
a loud shriek, and exclaimed, “He is down! — he is 
down ! ” 

“Who is down.f^” cried Ivanhoe; “for our dear 
Lady’s sake, tell me which has fallen.'^” 

“ The Black Knight,” answered Rebecca, faintly ; 
then, instantly again shouted with joyful eagerness — 
“But no — but no! the name of the Lord of Hosts be 
blessed ! he is on foot again, and fights as if there were 
twenty men’s strength in his single arm. His sword 
is broken — he snatches an axe from a yeoman — he 
presses Front-de-Boeuf with blow on blow. The giant 
stoops and totters like an oak under the steel of the 
woodman — he falls — he falls ! ” 

“ F ront-de-Boeuf ? ” exclaimed Ivanhoe. 
“Front-de-Boeuf,” answered the Jewess. “His men 
rush to the rescue, headed by the haughty Templar; 
their united force compels the champion to pause. 
They drag Front-de-Boeuf within the walls.” 

“The assailants have won the barriers, have they 
not ? ” said Ivanhoe. 

“ They have — they have ! ” exclaimed Rebecca ; 
“ and they press the besieged hard upon the outer wall ; 
some plant ladders, some swarm like bees, and endeavour 
to ascend upon the shoulders of each other; down go 
stones, beams, and trunks of trees upon their heads, and 
as fast as they bear the wounded to the rear, fresh men 
supply their places in the assault. Great God! hast 
Thou given men Thine own image that it should be 
thus cruelly defaced by the hands of their brethren ! ” 
“Think not of that,” said Ivanhoe; “this is no 
time for such thoughts. Who yield who push their 
way?” 


22 


338 


IVANHOE 


“ The ladders are thrown down,” replied Rebecca, 
shuddering; “the soldiers lie grovelling under them 
like crushed reptiles. The besieged have the better.” 

“ St. George strike for us ! ” exclaimed the knight ; 
“ do the false yeomen give way ? ” 

“ No ! ” exclaimed Rebecca, “ they bear themselves 
right yeomanly. The Black Knight approaches the 
postern with his huge axe ; the thundering blows which 
he deals, you may hear them above all the din and shouts 
of the battle. Stones and beams are hailed down on the 
bold champion: he regards them no more than if they 
were thistle-down or feathers ! ” 

“ By St. John of Acre,” said Ivanhoe, raising him- 
self joyfully on his couch, “methought there was but 
one man in England that might do such a deed ! ” 

“The postern gate shakes,” continued Rebecca — ■ 
“ it crashes — it is splintered by his blows — they rush 
in — the outwork is won. Oh, God! they hurl the de- 
fenders from the battlements — they throw them into 
the moat. O men, if ye be indeed men, spare them that 
can resist no longer ! ” 

“ The bridge — the bridge which communicates with 
the castle — have they won that pass ? ” exclaimed 
Ivanhoe. 

“ No,” replied Rebecca ; “ the Templar has destroyed 
the plank on which they crossed: few’ of the defenders 
escaped w ith him into the castle — the shrieks and cries 
which you hear tell the fate of the others. Alas I I see 
it is still more difficult to look upon victory than upon 
battle.” 

“What do they now, maiden.?” said Ivanhoe; 
“look forth yet again — this is no time to faint at 
bloodshed.” 

“ It is over for the time,” answered Rebecca ; “ our 
friends strengthen themselves within the outwork 
which they have mastered, and it affords them so good 
a shelter from the foemen’s shot that the garrison only 


IVANHOE 


339 


bestow a few bolts on it from interval to interval, as if 
rather to disquiet than effectually to injure them.” 

“ Our friends,” said Wilfred, “ will surely not aban- 
don an enterprise so gloriously begun and so happily 
attained. O no ! I will put my faith in the good knight 
whose axe hath rent heart-of-oak and bars of iron. 
Singular,” he again muttered to himself, “ if there be 
two who can do a deed of such derring-do ! A fetterlock, 
and a shackle-bolt on a field sable — ^what may that 
mean.f^ Seest thou nought else, Rebecca, by which the 
Black Knight may be distinguished.^” 

“'Nothing,” said the Jewess ; “ all about him is black 
as the wing of the night raven. Nothing can I spy 
that can mark him further ; but having once seen him 
put forth his strength in battle, methinks I could know 
him again among a thousand warriors. He rushes to 
the fray as if he were summoned to a banquet. There 
is more than mere strength — there seems as if the 
whole soul and spirit of the champion were given to 
every blow which he deals upon bis enemies. God as- 
soilzie him of the sin of bloodshed! It is fearful, yet 
magnificent, to behold how the arm and heart of one 
man can triumph over hundreds.” 

“ Rebecca,” said Ivanhoe, “ thou hast painted a hero ; 
surely they rest but to refresh their force, or to provide 
the means of crossing the moat. Under such a leader as 
thou hast spoken this knight to be, there are no craven 
fears, no cold-blooded delays, no yielding up a gallant 
emprize, since the difficulties which render it arduous 
render it also glorious. I swear by the honour of my 
house — I vow by the name of my bright lady-love, I 
would endure ten years’ captivity to fight one day by 
that good knight’s side, in such a quarrel as this I ” 

“ Alas I ” said Rebecca, leaving her station at the 
window, and approaching the couch of the wounded 
knight, “this impatient yearning after action — this 
struggling with and repining at your present weakness. 


340 


IVANHOE 


will not fail to injure your returning health. How 
couldst thou hope to inflict wounds on others, ere that 
be healed which thou thyself hast received?” 

“ Rebecca,” he replied, “ thou knowest not how impos- 
sible it is for one trained to actions of chivalry to re- 
main passive as a priest, or a woman, when they are 
acting deeds of honour around him. The love of battle 
is the food upon which we live — the dust of the melee is 
the breath of our nostrils ! We live not — we wish not to 
live — longer than while we are victorious and renowned. 
Such, maiden, are the laws of chivalry to which we are 
sworn, and to which we offer all that we hold dear.” 

“ Alas ! ” said the fair Jewess, “ and what is it, 
valiant knight, save an offering of sacrifice to a demon 
of vain glory, and a passing through the fire to Moloch ? 
What remains to you as the prize of all the blood you 
have spilled, of all the travail and pain you have en- 
dured, of all the tears which your deeds have caused, 
when death hath broken the strong man’s spear, and 
overtaken the speed of his war-horse ? ” 

“ What remains ? ” cried Ivanhoe. “ Glory, maiden 
— glory! which gilds our sepulchre and embalms our 
name.” 

“ Glory I ” continued Rebecca ; “ alas ! is the rusted 
mail which hangs as a hatchment over the champion’s 
dim and mouldering tomb, is the defaced sculpture of 
the inscription which the ignorant monk can hardly 
read to the inquiring pilgrim — are these sufficient re- 
wards for the sacrifice of every kindly affection, for a 
life spent miserably that ye may make others miserable? 
Or is there such virtue in the rude rhymes of a wander- 
ing bard, that domestic love, kindly affection, peace 
and happiness, are so wildly bartered, to become the 
hero of those ballads which vagabond minstrels sing to 
drunken churls over their evening ale?” 

“By the soul of Hereward!” replied the knight, 
impatiently, “thou speakest, maiden, of thou knowest 


IVANHOE 


341 


not what. Thou wouldst quench the pure light of chiv- 
alry, which alone distinguishes the noble from the base, 
the gentle knight from the churl and the savage ; which 
rates our life far, far beneath the pitch of our honour, 
raises us victorious over pain, toil, and suffering, and 
teaches us to fear no evil but disgrace. Thou art no 
Christian, Rebecca ; and to thee are unknown those 
high feelings which swell the bosom of a noble maiden 
when her lover hath done some deed of emprize which 
sanctions his flame. Chivalry ! Why, maiden, she is 
the nurse of pure and high affection, the stay of the 
oppressed, the redresser of grievances, the curb of the 
power of the tyrant. Nobility were but an empty name 
without her, and liberty finds the best protection in her 
lance and her sword.” 

‘‘ I am, indeed,” said Rebecca, sprung from a race 
whose courage was distinguished in the defence of their 
own land, but who warred not, even while yet a nation, 
save at the command of the Deity, or in defending their 
country from oppression. The sound of the trumpet 
wakes Judah no longer, and her despised children are 
now but the unresisting victims of hostile and military 
oppression. Well hast thou spoken. Sir Knight: until 
the God of Jacob shall raise up for His chosen people a 
second Gideon, or a new Maccabeus, it ill beseemeth the 
Jewish damsel to speak of battle or of war.” 

The high-minded maiden concluded the argument 
in a tone of sorrow, which deeply expressed her sense of 
the degradation of her people, embittered perhaps by the 
idea that Ivanhoe considered her as one not entitled to 
interfere in a case of honour, and incapable of entertain- 
ing or expressing sentiments of honour and generosity. 

“ How little he know^s this bosom,” she said, “ to im- 
agine that cowardice or meanness of soul must needs 
be its guests, because I have censured the fantastic 
chivalry of the Nazarenes! Would to Heaven that 
the shedding of mine own blood, drop by drop, could 


342 


IVANHOE 


redeem the captivity of Judah! Nay, would to God it 
could avail to set free my father, and this his benefac- 
tor, from the chains of the oppressor! The proud 
Christian should then see whether the daughter of God’s 
chosen people dared not to die as bravely as the vainest 
Nazarene maiden, that boasts her descent from some 
petty chieftain of the rude and frozen north ! ” 

She then looked towards the couch of the wounded 
knight. 

“He sleeps,” she said; “nature exhausted by suf- 
ferance and the waste of spirits, his wearied frame em- 
braces the first moment of temporary relaxation to 
sink into slumber. Alas ! is it a crime that I should look 
upon him, when it may be for the last time.^^ When yet 
but a short space, and those fair features will be no 
longer animated by the bold and buoyant spirit which 
forsakes them not even in sleep ! When the nostril shall 
be distended, the mouth agape, the eyes fixed and blood- 
shot ; and when the proud and noble knight may be 
trodden on by the lowest caitiff of this accursed castle, 
yet stir not when the heel is lifted up against him ! And 
my father! — oh, my father ! evil is it with his daughter, 
W'hen his gray hairs are not remembered because of the 
golden locks of youth! What know I but that these 
evils are the messengers of Jehovah’s wrath to the un- 
natural child who thinks of a stranger’s captivity be- 
fore a parent’s.'^ who forgets the desolation of Judah, 
and looks upon the comeliness of a Gentile and a 
stranger.? But I will tear this folly from my heart, 
though every fibre bleed as I rend it away ! ” 

She wrapped herself closely in her veil, and sat down 
at a distance from the couch of the wounded knight, 
with her back turned towards it, fortifying, or en- 
deavouring to fortify, her mind not only against the 
impending evils from without, but also against those 
treacherous feelings which assailed her from within. 


IVANHOE 


343 


CHAPTER XXX 

Approach the chamber, look upon his bed, 

His is the passing of no peaceful ghost. 

Which, as the lark arises to the sky, 

’IMid morning’s sweetest breeze and softest dew. 

Is wing’d to heaven by good men’s sighs and tears! 

Anselm parts otherwise. 

OU Play. 

D uring the interval of quiet which followed the 
first success of the besiegers, while the one 
party was preparing tO' pursue their advan- 
tage and the other to strengthen their means of defence, 
the Templar and De Bracy held brief counsel together 
in the hall of the castle. 

“Where is Front-de-Boeuf ” said the latter, who had 
superintended the defence of the fortress on the other 
side ; “ men say he hath been slain.” 

“ He lives,” said the Templar, coolly — “ lives as 
yet ; but had he worn the bull’s head of which he bears 
the name, and ten plates of iron to fence it withal, he 
must have gone down before yonder fatal axe. Yet a 
few hours, and Front-de-Boeuf is with his fathers — a 
powerful limb lopped off Prince John’s enterprise.” 

“ And a brave addition to the kingdom of Satan,” said 
De Bracy; “this comes of reviling saints and angels, 
and ordering images of holy things and holy men to be 
flung down on the heads of these rascaille yeomen.” 

“ Go to, thou art a fool,” said the Templar ; “ thy 
superstition is upon a level with Front-de-Boeuf ’s want 
of faith; neither of you can render a reason for your 
belief or unbelief.” 

“ Benedicite, Sir Templar,” replied De Bracy, “ I 
pray you to keep better rule with your tongue when I 
am the theme of it. By the Mother of Heaven, I am a 
better Christian man than thou and thy fellowship; 


344 


IVANHOE 


for the bruit goeth shrewdly out, that the most holy 
order of the Temple of Zion nurseth not a few heretics 
within its bosom, and that Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert 
is of the number.” 

“Care not for such reports,” said the Templar; 
“but let us think of making good the castle. How 
fought these villain yeomen on thy side.?” 

“ Like fiends incarnate,” said De Bracy. “ They 
swarmed close up to the walls, headed, as I think, by the 
knave who won the prize at the archery, for I knew 
his horn and baldric. And this is old Fitzurse’s boasted 
policy, encouraging these malapert knaves to rebel 
against us ! Had I not been armed in proof, the vil- 
lain had marked me down seven times with as little 
remorse as if I had been a buck in season. He told 
every rivet on my armour with a cloth-yard shaft, that 
rapped against my ribs with as little compunction as if 
my bones had been of iron. But that I wore a shirt of 
Spanish mail under my plate-coat, I had been fairly 
sped.” 

“ But you maintained your post.? ” said the Templar. 
“We lost the outwork on our part.” 

“ That is a shrewd loss,” said De Bracy ; “ the knaves 
will find cover there to assault the castle more closely, 
and may, if not well watched, gain some unguarded 
comer of a tower, or some forgotten window, and so 
break in upon us. Our numbers are too few for the de- 
fences of every point, and the men complain that they 
can nowhere show themselves, but they are the mark 
for as many arrows as a parish-butt on a holiday even. 
Front-de-Beeuf is dying too, so we shall receive no more 
aid from his bull’s head and brutal strength. How 
think you. Sir Brian, were we not better make a virtue 
of necessity, and compound with the rogues by deliver- 
ing up our prisoners .? ” 

“ How ! ” exclaimed the Templar ; “ deliver up our 
prisoners, and stand an object alike of ridicule and 


IVANHOE 


345 


execration, as the doughty warriors who dared by a 
night-attack to possess tliemselves of the persons of a 
party of defenceless travellers, yet could not make good 
a strong castle against a vagabond troop of outlaws, 
led by swineherds, jesters, and the very refuse of man- 
kind? Shame on thy counsel, Maurice de Bracy ! The 
ruins of this castle shall bury both my body and my 
shame, ere I consent to such base and dishonourable 
composition.” 

“ Let us to the walls, then,” said De Bracy, carelessly ; 
“that man never breathed, be he Turk or Templar, 
who held life at a lighter rate than I do. But I trust 
there is no dishonour in wishing I had here some two 
scores of my gallant troop of Free Companions? Oh, 
my brave lances ! if ye knew but how hard your captain 
were this day bested, how soon would I see my banner 
at the head of your clump of spears ! And how short 
while would these rabble villains stand to endure your 
encounter ! ” 

“ Wish for whom thou wilt,” said the Templar, “ but 
let us make what defence we can with the soldiers who 
remain. They are chiefly Front-de-Boeuf ’s followers, 
hated by the English for a thousand acts of insolence 
and oppression.” 

“ The better,” said De Bracy ; “ the rugged slaves 
will defend themselves to the last drop of their blood, 
ere they encounter the revenge of the peasants without. 
Let us up and be doing, then, Brian de Bois-Guilbert ; 
and, live or die, thou shalt see Maurice de Bracy bear 
himself this day as a gentleman of blood and lineage.” 

“ To the walls ! ” answered the Templar ; and they 
both ascended the battlements to do all that skill could 
dictate, and manhood accomplish, in defence of the 
place. They readily agreed that the point of greatest 
danger was that opposite to the outwork of which the 
assailants had possessed themselves. The castle, indeed, 
was divided from that barbican by the moat, and it was 


346 


IVANHOE 


impossible that the besiegers could assail the postern 
door, with which the outwork corresponded, without 
surmounting that obstacle ; but it was the opinion both 
of the Templar and De Bracy that the besiegers, if 
governed by the same policy their leader had already 
displayed, would endeavour, by a formidable assault, 
to draw the chief part of the defenders’ observation to 
this point, and take measures to avail themselves of 
every negligence which might take place in the defence 
elsewhere. To guard against such an evil, their num- 
bers only permitted the knights to place sentinels from 
space to space along the walls in communication with 
each other, who might give the alarm whenever danger 
was threatened. Meanwhile, they agreed that De 
Bracy should command the defence at the postern, and 
the Templar should keep with him a score of men or 
thereabouts as a body of reserve, ready to hasten to any 
other point which might be suddenly threatened. The 
loss of the barbican had also this unfortunate effect, 
that, notwithstanding the superior heights of the castle 
walls, the besieged could not see from them, with the 
same precision as before, the operations of the enemy ; 
for some straggling underwood approached so near the 
sallyport of the outwork that the assailants might in- 
troduce into it whatever force they thought proper, 
not only under cover, but even without the knowledge 
of the defenders. Utterly uncertai*, therefore, upon 
what point the storm was to burst, De Bracy and his 
companion were under the necessity of providing 
against every possible contingency, and their followers, 
however brave, experienced the anxious dejection of 
mind incident to men enclosed by enemies, who possessed 
the power of choosing their time and mode of attack. 

Meanwhile, the lord of the beleaguered and endan- 
gered castle lay upon a bed of bodily pain and men- 
tal agony. He had not the usual resource of bigots in 


IVANHOE 


347 


that superstitious period, most of whom were wont to 
atone for the crimes they were guilty of by liberality 
to the church, stupefying by this means their terrors 
by the idea of atonement and forgiveness ; and al- 
though the refuge which success thus purchased was 
no more like to the peace of mind which follows on 
sincere repentance than the turbid stupefaction pro- 
cured by opium resembles healthy and natural slumbers, 
it was still a state of mind preferable to the agonies of 
awakened remorse. But among the vices of Front-de- 
Boeuf, a hard and griping man, avarice was predomi- 
nant; and he preferred setting church and churchmen 
at defiance to purchasing from them pardon and ab- 
solution at the price of treasure and of manors. Nor 
did the Templar, an infidel of another stamp, justly 
characterize his associate when he said Front-de-Boeuf 
could assign no cause for his unbelief and contempt for 
the established faith ; for the baron would have alleged 
' that the church sold her wares too dear, that the spir- 
itual freedom which she put up to sale was onfy to be 
bought, like that of the chief captain of Jerusalem, 
“with a great sum,” and Front-de-Boeuf preferred 
denying the virtue of the medicine to paying the ex- 
pense of the physician. 

But the moment had rjow arrived when earth and all 
its treasures were gliding from before his eyes, and 
when the savage baron’s heart, though hard as a 
nether millstone, became appalled as he gazed forward 
into the waste darkness of futurity. The fever of his 
body aided the impatience and agony of his mind, and 
his death-bed exhibited a mixture of the newly-awakened 
feelings of horror combating with the fixed and inveter- 
ate obstinacy of his disposition — a fearful state of 
mind, only to be equalled in those tremendous regions 
where there are complaints without hope, remorse with- 
out repentance, a dreadful sense of present agony, and 
a presentiment that it cannot cease or be diminished! 


348 


IVANHOE 


“ Where be these dog-priests now,” growled the 
baron, “ who set such price on their ghostly mummery ? 
— where be all those unshod Carmelites, for whom old 
Front-de-Boeuf founded the convent of St. Anne, rob- 
bing his heir of many a fair rood of meadow, and 
many a fat field and close — where be the greedy 
hounds now.? Swilling, I warrant me, at the ale, or 
playing their juggling tricks at the bedside of some 
miserly churl. Me, the heir of their founder — me, 
whom their foundation binds them to pray for — me — 
ungrateful villains as they are! — they suffer to die like 
the houseless dog on yonder common, unshriven and un- 
houseled! Tell the Templar to come hither; he is a 
priest, and may do something. But no ! as well confess 
myself to the devil as to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who 
recks neither of Heaven nor of Hell. I have heard old 
men talk of prayer — prayer by their own voice — such 
need not to court or to bribe the false priest. But I — 
I dare not I ” 

“Lit^s Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” said a broken and 
shrill voice close by his bedside, ‘‘to say there is that 
which he dares not ? ” 

The evil conscience and the shaken nerves of Front- 
de-Boeuf heard, in this strange interruption to his so- 
liloquy, the voice of one of those demons who, as the 
superstition of the times believed, beset the beds of 
dying men, to distract their thoughts, and turn them 
from the meditations which concerned their eternal 
welfare. He shuddered and drew himself together; 
but, instantly summoning up his wonted resolution, 
he exclaimed, “Who is there what art thou, that 
darest to echo my words in a tone like that of the 
night-raven.? Come before my couch that I may see 
thee.” 

“I am thine evil angel, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” 
replied the voice. 

“ Let me behold thee then in thy bodily shape, if thou 


IVANHOE 


349 


be’st indeed a fiend,” replied the dying knight ; “ think 
not that I will blench from thee. By the eternal dun- 
geon, could I but grapple with these horrors that' hover 
round me as I have done with mortal dangers. Heaven 
or Hell should never say that I shrunk from the 
conflict ! ” 

“ Think on thy sins, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” said 
the almost unearthly voice — “on rebellion, on rapine, 
on murder! Who stirred up the licentious John to war 
against his gray-headed father — against his generous 
brother ” 

“ Be thou fiend, priest, or devil,” replied Front-de- 
Boeuf, “ thou liest in thy throat I Not I stirred John 
to rebellion — not I alone ; there were fifty knights and 
barons, the flower of the midland counties, better men 
never laid lance in rest. And must I answer for the 
fault done by fifty False fiend, I defy thee! Depart, 
and haunt my couch no more. Let me die in peace if 
thou be mortal; if thou be a demon, thy time is not 
yet come.” 

“ In peace thou shalt not die,” repeated the voice ; 
“ even in death shalt thou think on thy murders — on 
the groans which this castle has echoed — on the blood 
that is engrained in its floors ! ” 

“ Thou canst not shake me by thy petty malice,” an- 
swered Front-de-Boeuf, with a ghastly and constrained 
laugh. “The infidel Jew — it was merit with Heaven 
to deal with him as I did, else wherefore are men canon- 
ized who dip their hands in the blood of Saracens ? The 
Saxon porkers whom I have slain — they were the foes 
of my country, and of my lineage, and of my liege lord. 
Ho ! ho' ! thou seest there is no crevice in my coat of 
plate. Art thou fled.? art thou silenced.?” 

“No, foul parricide!” replied the voice; “think 
of thy father! — think of his death! — think of his 
banquet-room flooded with his gore, and that poured 
forth by the hand of a son ! ” 


350 


IVANHOE 


“ Ha ! ” answered the Baron, after a long pause, ‘‘ an 
thou knowest that, thou art indeed the Author of Evil, 
and as omniscient as the monks call thee ! That secret 
I deemed locked in my own breast, and in that of one 
besides — the temptress, the partaker of my guilt. Go, 
leave me, fiend! and seek the Saxon witch Ulrica, who 
alone could tell thee what she and I alone witnessed. 
Go, I say, to her, who washed the wounds, and 
straighted the corpse, and gave to the slain man the 
outward show of one parted in time and in the course 
of nature. Go to her ; she was my temptress, the foul 
provoker, the more foul rewarder, of the deed; let her, 
as well as I, taste of the tortures which anticipate 
Hell!” 

“ She already tastes them,” said Ulrica, stepping 
before the couch of Front-de-Boeuf ; ‘‘she hath long 
drunken of this cup, and its bitterness is now sweetened 
to see that thou dost partake it. Grind not thy teeth, 
Front-de-Boeuf — roll not thine eyes^ — clench not thy 
hand, nor shake it at me with that gesture of menace ! 
The hand which, like that of thy renowned ancestor 
who gained thy name, could have broken with one stroke 
the skull of a mountain-bull, is now unnerved and power- 
less as mine own ! ” 

“Vile, murderous hag!” replied Front-de-Boeuf — 
“ detestable screech-owl ! it is then thou who art come 
to exult over the ruins thou hast assisted to lay low ? ” 

“Ay, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” answered she, “it 
is Ulrica! — it is the daughter of the murdered Tor- 
quil Wolfganger! — it is the sister of his slaughtered 
sons ! it is she who demands of thee, and of thv father’s 
house, father and kindred, name and fame — all that 
she has lost by the name of Front-de-Boeuf! Think of 
my wrongs, Front-de-Boeuf, and answer me if I speak 
not truth. Thou hast been my evil angel, and I will 
be thine: I will dog thee till the very instant of 
dissolution ! ” 


IVANHOE 


351 


“ Detestable fury ! ” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, “ that 
moment shalt thou never witness. Ho ! Giles, Clement, 
and Eustace ! St. Maur and Stephen ! seize this damned 
witch, and hurl her from the battlements headlong; 
she has betrayed us to the Saxon! Ho! St. Maur! 
Clement! false-hearted knaves, where tarry 

“ Call on them again, valiant baron,” said the hag, 
with a smile of grisly mockery ; “ summon thy vassals 
around thee, doom them that loiter to the scourge and 
the dungeon. But know, mighty chief,” she continued,' 
suddenly changing her tone, “thou shalt have neither 
answer, nor aid, nor obedience at their hands. Listen 
to these horrid sounds,” for the din of the recommenced 
assault and defence now rung fearfully loud from the 
battlements of the castle ; “ in that war-cry is the down- 
fall of thy house. The blood-cemented fabric of Front- 
de-Boeuf’s power totters to the foundation, and before 
the foes he most despised! The Saxon, Reginald! — ■ 
the scorned Saxon assails thy walls! Why liest thou 
here, like a worn-out hind, when the Saxon storms thy 
place of strength 

“ Gods and fiends ! ” exclaimed the wounded knight. 
“ 0, for one moment’s strength, to drag myself to the 
melee, and perish as becomes my name!” 

“ Think not of it, valiant warrior ! ” replied she ; 
“ thou shalt die no soldier’s death, but perish like the 
fox in his den, when the peasants have set fire to the 
cover around it.” 

“Hateful hag! thou liest!” exclaimed Front-de- 
Boeuf; “my followers bear them bravely — my walls 
are strong and high — my comrades in arms fear not 
a whole host of Saxons, were they headed by Hengist 
and Horsa! The war-cry of the Templar and of the 
Free Companions rises high over the conflict ! And by 
mine honour, when we kindle the blazing beacon for 
joy of our defence, it shall consume thee, body and 
bones; and I shall live to hear thou art gone from 


352 


IVANHOE 


earthly fires to those of that Hell which never sent forth 
an incarnate fiend so utterly diabolical!” 

“ Hold thy belief,” replied Ulrica, ‘‘ till the proof 
reach thee. But no!” she said, interrupting herself, 
“thou shalt know even now the doom which all thy 
power, strength, and courage is unable to avoid, though 
it is prepared for thee by this feeble hand. Markest 
thou the smouldering and suffocating vapour which 
already eddies in sable folds through the chamber 
Didst thou think it was but the darkening of thy 
bursting eyes, the difficulty of thy cumbered breathing.^ 
No! Front-de-Boeuf, there is another cause. Remem- 
berest thou the magazine of fuel that is stored beneath 
these apartments ? ” 

“Woman!” he exclaimed with fury, “thou hast not 
set fire to it.^^ By Heaven, thou hast, and the castle is 
in flames ! ” 

“They are fast rising at least,” said Ulrica, with 
frightful composure ; “ and a signal shall soon wave 
to w^arn the besiegers to press hard upon those who 
would extinguish them. Farewell, Front-de-Boeuf! 
May Mista, Skogula, and Zernebock, gods of the an- 
cient Saxons — fiends, as the priests now call them — 
supply the place of comforters at your dying bed, 
which Ulrica now relinquishes ! But know, if it will 
give thee comfort to know it, that Ulrica is bound to 
the same dark coast with thyself, the companion of thy 
punishment as the companion of thy guilt. And now, 
parricide, farewell for ever! May each stone of this 
vaulted roof find a tongue to echo that title into thine 
ear!” 

So saying, she left the apartment; and Front-de- 
Boeuf could hear the crash of the ponderous key as she 
locked and doubled-locked the door behind her, thus cut- 
ting off the most slender chance of escape. In the ex- 
tremity of agony, he shouted upon his servants and 
allies — “ Stephen and St. Maur ! Clement and Giles I 


IVANHOE 


353 


I bum here unaided! To the rescue — to the rescue, 
brave Bois-Guilbert, valiant De Bracy ! It is Front- 
de-Boeuf who calls ! It is your master, ye traitor 
squires! Your ally — your brother in arms, ye per- 
jured and faithless knights! All the curses due to 
traitors upon your recreant heads, do you abandon me 
to perish thus miserably! They hear me not — they 
cannot hear me — my voice is lost in the din of battle. 
The smoke rolls thicker and thicker, the fire has caught 
upon the floor below. O, for one draught of the air of 
heaven, were it to be purchased by instant annihila- 
tion ! ” And in the mad frenzy of despair, the wretch 
now shouted with the shouts of the fighters, now mut- 
tered curses on himself, on mankind, and on Heaven 
itself. ‘‘ The red fire flashes through the thick smoke ! ” 
he exclaimed ; “ the demon marches against me under 
the banner of his own element. Foul spirit, avoid! I 
go not with thee without my comrades — all, all are 
thine that garrison these walls. Thinkest thou Front- 
de-Boeuf will be singled out to go alone.? No; the in- 
fidel Templar, the licentious De Bracy, Ulrica, the foul 
murdering stmmpet, the men who aided my enterprises, 
the dog Saxons and accursed Jews who are my prison- 
ers — all, all shall attend me — a goodly fellowship as 
ever took the downward road. Ha, ha, ha ! ” and he 
laughed in his frenzy till the vaulted roof rang again. 
‘‘Who laughed there.?” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf , in 
altered mood, for the noise of the conflict did not pre- 
vent the echoes of his own mad laughter from return- 
ing upon his ear — “who laughed there.? Ulrica, was 
it thou.? Speak, witch, and I forgive thee; for only 
thou or the Fiend of Hell himself could have laughed 
at such a moment. Avaunt — avaunt — !” 

But it were impious to trace any further the picture 
of the blasphemer and parricide’s death-bed. 


23 


354 


IVx\NHOE 


CHAPTER XXXI 

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more. 

Or close the wall up with our English dead. 

. . . And you, good yeomen. 

Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 
The mettle of your pasture — let us swear 
That you are worth your breeding. 

King Henry V. 

C edric, although not greatly confident in Ul- 
rica’s message, omitted not to communicate her 
promise to the Black Knight and Locksley. 
They were well pleased to find they had a friend within 
the place, who might, in the moment of need, be able 
to facilitate their entrance, and readily agreed with the 
Saxon that a storm, under whatever disadvantages, 
ought to be attempted, as the only means of liberating the 
prisoners now in the hands of the cruel Front-de-Boeuf . 

“ The royal blood of Alfred is endangered,” said 
Cedric. 

“The honour of a noble lady is in peril,” said the 
Black Knight. 

“And, by the St. Christopher at my baldric,” said 
the good yeoman, “ were there no other cause than the 
safety of that poor faithful knave, Wamba, I would 
jeopard a joint ere a hair of his head were hurt.” 

“And so would I,” said the Friar; “what, sirs! I 
trust well that a fool — I mean, d’ ye see me, sirs, a fool 
that is free of his guild and master of his craft, and 
can give as much relish and flavour to a cup of wine 
as ever a flitch of bacon can — I say, brethren, such 
a fool shall never want a wise clerk to pray for or 
fight for him at a strait, while I can say a mass or 
flourish a partizan.” 

And with that he made his heavy halberd to play 
around liis head as a shepherd boy flourishes his little 
crook. 


IVANHOE 


355 


“ True, holy clerk,” said the Black Knight — “ tme 
as if St. Dunstan himself had said it. And now, good 
Locksley, were it not well that noble Cedric should 
assume the direction of this assault.?” 

“Not a jot I,” returned Cedric; “I have never been 
wont to study either how to take or how to hold out 
those abodes of tyrannic power which the Normans 
have erected in this groaning land. I will fight among 
the foremost ; but my honest neighbours well know I 
am not a trained soldier in the discipline of wars or 
the attack of strongholds.” 

“ Since it stands thus with noble Cedric,” said Locks- 
ley, “I am most willing to take on me the direction of 
the archery ; and ye shall hang me up on my own 
trysting-tree an the defenders be permitted to show 
themselves over the walls without being stuck with 
as many shafts as there are cloves in a gammon of 
bacon at Christmas.” 

“Well said, stout yeoman,” answered the Black 
Knight ; “ and if I be thought worthy to have a charge 
in these matters, and can find among these brave men 
so many as are willing to follow a true English knight, 
for so I may surely call myself, I am ready, with such 
skill as my experience has taught me, to lead them to 
the attack of these walls.” 

The parts being thus distributed to the leaders, they 
commenced the first assault, of which the reader has 
already heard the issue. 

When the barbican was carried, the Sable Knight 
sent notice of the happy event to Locksley, requesting 
him at the same time to keep such a strict observation 
on the castle as might prevent the defenders from com- 
bining their force for a sudden sally, and recovering 
the outwork which they had lost. This the knight was 
chiefly desirous of avoiding, conscious that the men 
whom he led, being hasty and untrained volunteers, im- 
perfectly armed and unaccustomed to discipline, must, 


356 


IVANHOE 


upon any sudden attack, fight at great disadvantage 
with the veteran soldiers of the Norman knights, who 
were well provided with arms both defensive and offen- 
sive ; and who, to match the zeal and high spirit of the 
besiegers, had all the confidence which arises from per- 
fect discipline and the habitual use of weapons. 

The knight employed the interval in causing to be 
constructed a sort of floating bridge, or long raft, by 
means of which he hoped to cross the moat in despite 
of the resistance of the enemy. This was a work of 
some time, which the leaders the less regretted, as it 
gave Ulrica leisure to execute her plan of diversion in 
their favour, whatever that might be. 

When the raft was completed, the Black Knight 
addressed the besiegers : “ It avails not waiting here 
longer, my friends ; the sun is descending to the west, 
and I have that upon my hands which will not permit 
me to tarry with you another day. Besides, it will be 
a marvel if the horsemen come not upon us from York, 
unless we speedily accomplish our purpose. Where- 
fore, one of ye go to Locksley, and bid him commence 
a discharge of arrows on the opposite side of the castle, 
and move forward as if about to assault it ; and you, 
true English hearts, stand by me, and be ready to 
thrust the raft endlong over the moat whenever the 
postern on our side is thrown open. Follow me boldly 
across, and aid me to burst yon sallyport in the main 
wall of the castle. As many of you as like not this 
service, or are but ill armed to meet it, do you man the 
top of the outwork, draw your bowstrings to your ears, 
and mind you quell with your shot whatever shall ap- 
pear to man the rampart. Noble Cedric, wilt thou take 
the direction of those which remain ? ” 

“Not so, by the soul of Hereward!” said the 
Saxon; “lead I cannot; but may posterity curse me 
in my grave, if I follow not with the foremost wher- 
ever thou shalt point the way. The quarrel is mine, 


IVANHOE 357 

and well it becomes me to be in the van of the 
battle.” 

“ Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon,” said the knight, 
“ thou hast neither hauberk, nor corslet, nor aught but 
that light helmet, target, and sword.” 

“ The better ! ” answered Cedric ; “ I shall be the 
lighter to climb these walls. And — forgive the boast. 
Sir Knight — thou shalt this day see the naked breast 
of a Saxon as boldly presented to. the battle as ever 
ye beheld the steel corslet of a Norman.” 

“ In the name of God, then,” said the knight, “ fling 
open the door, and launch the floating bridge.” 

The portal, which led from the inner wall of the 
barbican to the moat, and which corresponded with a 
sallyport in the main wall of the castle, was now sud- 
denly opened; the temporary bridge was then thrust 
forward, and soon flashed in the waters, extending its 
length between the castle and outwork, and forming a 
slippery and precarious passage for two men abreast 
to cross the moat. Well aware of the importance of 
taking the foe by surprise, the Black Knight, closely 
followed by Cedric, threw himself upon the bridge, and 
reached the opposite side. Here he began to thunder 
with his axe upon the gate of the castle, protected in 
part from the shot and stones cast by the defenders 
by the ruins of the former drawbridge, which the Tem- 
plar had demolished in his retreat from the barbican, 
leaving the counterpoise still attached to the upper part 
of the portal. The followers of the knight had no such 
shelter; two were instantly shot with cross-bow bolts, 
and two more fell into the moat; the others retreated 
back into the barbican. ' 

The situation of Cedric and of the Black Knight was 
now truly dangerous, and would have been still more 
so but for the constancy of the archers in the barbican, 
who ceased not to shower their arrows upon the battle- 
ments, distracting the attention of those by whom they 


358 


IVAN HOE 


were manned, and thus affording a respite to their two 
chiefs from the storm of missiles which must otherwise 
have overwhelmed them. But their situation was emi- 
nently perilous, and was becoming more so with every 
moment. 

“ Shame on ye all ! ” cried De Bracy to the soldiers 
around him ; “ do ye call yourselves cross-bowmen, and 
let these two dogs keep their station under the walls of 
the castle.? Heave over the coping stones from the 
battlement, an better may not be. Get pickaxe and 
levers, and down with that huge pinnacle ! ” pointing 
to a heavy piece of stone carved-work that projected 
from the parapet. 

At this moment the besiegers caught sight of the red 
flag upon the angle of the tower which Ulrica had 
described to Cedric. The good yeoman Locksley was 
the first who was aware of it, as he was hasting to the 
outwork, impatient to see the progress of the assault. 

“ St. George ! ” he cried — “ Merry St. George for 
England ! To the charge, bold yeomen ! why leave ye 
the good knight and noble Cedric to storm the pass 
alone.? Make in, mad priest, show thou canst fight for 
thy rosary ^ — make in, brave yeomen! — the castle is 
ours, we have friends within. See yonder flag, it is 
the appointed signal — Torquilstone is ours! Think 
of honour — think of spoil! One effort, and the place 
is ours ! ” 

With that he bent his good bow, and sent a shaft 
right through the breast of one of the men-at-arms, 
who, under De Bracy’s direction, was loosening a frag- 
ment from one of the battlements to precipitate on the 
heads of Cedric and the Black Knight. A second sol- 
dier caught from the hands of the dying man the iron 
crow with which he heaved at and had loosened the 
stone pinnacle, when, receiving an arrow through his 
head-piece, he dropped from the battlements into the 
moat a dead man. The men-at-arms were daunted, for 


IVANHOE 359 

no armour seemed proof against the shot of this tre- 
mendous archer. 

“ Do you give ground, base knaves !” said De Bracy ; 

Mount joye Saint Denis! Give me the lever!” 

And, snatching it up, he again assailed the loosened 
pinnacle, which was of weight enough, if thrown down, 
not only to have destroyed the remnant of the draw- 
bridge which sheltered the two foremost assailants, but 
also to have sunk the rude float of planks over which 
they had crossed. All saw the danger, and the boldest, 
even the stout Friar himself, avoided setting foot on 
the raft. Thrice did Locksley bend his shaft against 
De Bracy, and thrice did his arrow bound back from 
the knight’s armour of proof. 

“ Curse on thy Spanish steel-coat ! ” said Locksley, 
“ had English smith forged it, these arrows had gone 
through, an as if it had been silk or sendal.” He then 
began to call out, “ Comrades I friends ! noble Cedric I 
bear back and let the ruin fall.” 

His warning voice was unheard, for the din which 
the knight himself occasioned by his strokes upon the 
postern would have drowned twenty war-trumpets. The 
faithful Gurth indeed sprung forward on the planked 
bridge, to warn Cedric of his impending fate, or to 
share it with him. But his warning would have come 
too late; the massive pinnacle already tottered, and 
De Bracy, who still heaved at his task, would have 
accomplished it, had not the voice of the Templar 
sounded close in his ear: 

“ All is lost, De Bracy ; the castle bums.” 

“Thou art mad to say sol” replied the knight. 

“It is all in a light flame on the western side. I 
have striven in vain to extinguish it.” 

With the stern coolness which formed the basis of his 
character, Brian de Bois-Guilbert communicated this 
hideous intelligence, which was not so calmly received 
by his astonished comrade. 


SCO 


IVANHOE 


“ Saints of Paradise ! ” said De Bracy ; “ what is to 
be done? I vow to St. Nicholas of Limoges a candle- 
stick of pure gold — ” 

“ Spare thy vow,” said the Templar, “ and mark me. 
Lead thy men down, as if to a sally ; throw the postern 
gate open. There are but two men who occupy the 
float, fling them into the moat, and pi^sh across to the 
barbican. I will charge from the main gate, and at- 
tack the barbican on the outside ; and if we can regain 
that post, be assured we shall defend ourselves until 
we are relieved, or at least till they grant us fair 
quarter.” 

“ It is well thought upon,” said De Bracy ; “ I will 
play my part. Templar, thou wilt not fail me?” 

“ Hand and glove, I will not ! ” said Bois-Guilbert. 
“But haste thee, in the name of God!” 

De Bracy hastily drew his men together, and rushed 
down to the postern gate, w^hich he caused instantly to 
be thrown open. But scarce was this done ere the 
portentous strength of the Black Knight forced his 
way inward in despite of De Bracy and his followers. 
Two of the foremost instantly fell, and the rest gave 
way notwithstanding all their leader’s efforts to stop 
them. 

“ Dogs ! ” said De Bracy, “ will ye let two men win 
our only pass for safety ? ” 

“ He is the devil 1 ” said a veteran man-at-arms, bear- 
ing back from the blows of their sable antagonist. 

“ And if he be the devil,” replied De Bracy, “ would 
you fly from him into the mouth of hell? The castle 
burns behind us, villains ! — let despair give you cour- 
age, or let me forward! I will cope with this cham- 
pion myself.” 

And well and chivalrous did De Bracy that day 
maintain the fame he had acquired in the civil wars of 
that dreadful period. The vaulted passages to wdiich 
the postern gave entrance, and in wLich these two 


lYANHOE 


361 


redoubted champions were now fighting hand to hand, 
rung with the furious blows which they dealt each 
other, De Bracy with his sword, the Black Knight with 
his ponderous axe. At length the Norman received a 
blow which, though its force was partly parried by his 
shield, for otherwise never more would De Bracy have 
again moved limb, descended yet with such violence on 
his crest that he measured his length on the paved floor. 

“ Yield thee, De Bracy,” said the Black Champion, 
stooping over him, and holding against the bars of his 
helmet the fatal poniard with which the knights de- 
spatched their enemies, and which was called the dagger 
of mercy — “yield thee, Maurice de Bracy, rescue or 
no rescue, or thou art but a dead man.” 

“ I will not yield,” replied De Bracy, faintly, “to an 
unknown conqueror. Tell me thy name, or work thy 
pleasure on me; it shall never be said that Maurice 
de Bracy was prisoner to a nameless churl.” 

The Black Knight whispered something into the ear 
of the vanquished. 

“ I yield me to be true prisoner, rescue or no rescue,” 
answered the Norman, exchanging his tone of stern 
and determined obstinacy for one of deep though sul- 
len submission. 

“Go to the barbican,” said the victor, in a tone of 
authority, “ and there wait my further orders.” 

“Yet first let me say,” said De Bracy, “what it im- 
ports thee to know. Wilfred of Ivanhoe is wounded 
and a prisoner, and will perish in the burning castle 
without present help.” 

“Wilfred of Ivanhoe!” exclaimed the Black Knight 
— “ prisoner, and perish I The life of every man in 
the castle shall answer it if a hair of his head be 
singed. Show me his chamber!” 

“ Ascend yonder winding stair,” said De Bracy ; 
“ it leads to his apartment. Wilt thou accept my guid- 
ance.?” he added, in a submissive tone. 


36!2 


IVANHOE 


“No. To the barbican, and there wait my orders. 
I trust thee not, De Bracy.” 

During this combat and the brief conversation which 
ensued, Cedric, at the head of a body of men, among 
whom the Friar was conspicuous, had pushed across the 
bridge as soon as they saw tlie postern open, and drove 
back the dispirited and despairing followers of De 
Bracy, of whom some asked quarter, some offered vain 
resistance, and the greater part fled towards the court- 
yard. De Bracy himself arose from the ground, and 
cast a sorrowful glance after his conqueror. “ He trusts 
me not ! ” he repeated ; “ but have I deserved his trust ” 
He then lifted his sword from the floor, took off his 
helmet in token of submission, and, going to the bar- 
bican, gave up his sword to Locksley, whom he met by 
the way. 

As the fire augmented, symptoms of it became soon 
apparent in the chamber where Ivanhoe was watched 
and tended by the Jewess Rebecca. He had been awak- 
ened from his brief slumber by the noise of the battle ; 
and his attendant, who had, at his anxious desire, again 
placed herself at the window to watch and report to 
him the fate of the attack, was for some time prevented 
from observing either by the increase of the smoulder- 
ing and stifling vapour. At length the volumes of 
smoke which rolled into the apartment, the cries for 
water, which were heard even above the din of the 
battle, made them sensible of the progress of this new 
danger. 

“ The castle burns,” said Rebecca — “ it burns ! 
What can we do to save ourselves ? ” 

“ Fly, Rebecca, and save thine own life,” said Ivan- 
hoe, “ for no human aid can avail me.” 

“ I will not fly,” answered Rebecca ; “ we will be 
saved or perish together. And yet, great God! my 
father — my father, what will be his fate?” 


IVANHOE 


363 


At this moment the door of the apartment flew open, 
and the Templar presented himself — a ghastly figure, 
for his gilded armour was broken and bloody, and the 
plume was partly shorn away, partly burnt from his 
casque. “ I have found thee,” said he to Rebecca ; 
‘‘ thou shalt prove I will keep my word to share weal 
and woe with thee. There is but one path to safety: 
I have cut my way through fifty dangers to point it 
to thee ; up, and instantly follow me ! ” 

“ Alone,” answered Rebecca, “ I will not follow thee. 
If thou wert bom of woman — if thou hast but a touch 
of human charity in thee — if thy heart be not as hard 
as thy breastplate — save my aged father — save this 
wounded knight ! ” 

“ A knight,” answered the Templar, with his charac- 
teristic calmness — “a knight, Rebecca, must encounter 
his fate, whether it meet him in the shape of sword or 
flame; and who recks how or where a Jew meets with 
his.?” 

“ Savage warrior,” said Rebecca, “ rather will I 
perish in the flames than accept safety from thee!” 

“ Thou shalt not choose, Rebecca ; once didst thou 
foil me, but never mortal did so twice.” 

So saying, he seized on the terrified maiden, who 
filled the air with her shrieks, and bore her out of the 
room in his arms, in spite of her cries, and without 
regarding the menaces and defiance which Ivanhoe 
thundered against him. “ Hound of the Temple — 
stain to thine order — set free the damsel! Traitor 
of Bois-Guilbert, it is Ivanhoe commands thee! Vil- 
lain, I will have thy heart’s blood!” 

‘‘I had not found thee, Wilfred,” said the Black 
Knight, who at that instant entered the apartment, 
“but for thy shouts.” 

“ If thou be’st true knight,” said Wilfred, “ think 
not of me — pursue yon ravisher — save the Lady 
Rowena — look to the noble Cedric!” 


364 


IVANHOE 


“ In their turn,” answered he of the Fetterlock, “ but 
thine is first.” 

And seizing upon Ivanhoe, he bore him off with as 
much ease as the Templar had carried off Rebecca, 
rushed with him to the postern, and having there de- 
livered his burden to the care of two yeomen, he again 
entered the castle to assist in the rescue of the other 
prisoners. 

One turret was now in bright flames, which flashed 
out furiously from window and shot-hole. But in 
other parts the great thickness of the walls and the 
vaulted roofs of the apartments resisted the progress 
of the flames, and there the rage of man still triumphed, 
as the scarce more dreadful element held mastery else- 
where; for the besiegers pursued the defenders of the 
castle from chamber to chamber, and satiated in their 
blood the vengeance which had long animated them 
against the soldiers of the tyrant F ront-de-Boeuf . Most 
of the garrison resisted to the uttermost ; few of them 
asked quarter; none received it. The air was filled 
with groans and clashing of arms ; the floors were 
slippery with the blood of despairing and expiring 
wretches. 

Through this scene of confusion, Cedric rushed in 
quest of Rowena, while the faithful Gurth, following 
him closely through the melee, neglected his own safety 
while he strove to avert the blows that were aimed at 
his master. The noble Saxon was so fortunate as to 
reach his ward’s apartment just as she had abandoned 
all hopes of safety, and, with a crucifix clasped in 
agony to her bosom, sat in expectation of instant death. 
Pie committed her to the charge of Gurth, to be con- 
ducted in safety to the barbican, the road to which was 
now cleared of the enemy, and not yet interrupted by 
the flames. This accomplished, the loyal Cedric has- 
tened in quest of his friend Athelstane, determined, at 
every risk to himself, to save that last scion of Saxon 


IVANHOE. 


365 


royalty. But ere Cedric penetrated as far as the old 
hall in which he had himself been a prisoner, the in- 
ventive genius of Wamba had procured liberation for 
himself and his companion in adversity. 

When the noise of the conflict announced that it was 
at the hottest, the Jester began to shout, with the ut- 
most power of his lungs, “ St. George and the dragon ! 
Bonny St. George for merry England! The castle is 
won 1 ” And these sounds he rendered yet more fear- 
ful by banging against each other two or three pieces 
of rusty armour which lay scattered around the hall. 

A guard, which had been stationed in the outer or 
ante-room, and whose spirits were already in a state 
of alarm, took fright at Wamba’s clamour, and, leav- 
ing the door open behind them, ran to tell the Templar 
that foemen had entered the old hall. Meantime the 
prisoners found no difficulty in making their escape 
into the ante-room, and from thence into the court of 
the castle, which was now the last scene of contest. 
Here sat the fierce Templar, mounted on horseback, 
surrounded by several of the garrison both on horse 
and foot, who had united their strength to that of this 
renowned leader, in order to secure the last chance of 
safety and retreat which remained to them. The draw- 
bridge had been lowered by his orders, but the passage 
was beset ; for the archers, who had hitherto only an- 
noyed the castle on that side by their missiles, no sooner 
saw the flames breaking out, and the bridge lowered, 
than they thronged to the entrance, as well to prevent 
the escape of the garrison as to secure their own share 
of booty ere the castle should be burnt down. On the 
other hand, a party of the besiegers, who had entered 
by the postern, were now issuing out into the courtyard, 
and attacking with fury the remnant of the defenders, 
who were thus assaulted on both sides at once. 

Animated, however, by despair, and supported by 
the example of their indomitable leader, the remaining 


IVANHOE 


,sr>G 

soldiers of the castle fought with the utmost valour ; 
and, being well armed, succeeded more than once in driv- 
ing back the assailants, though much inferior in num- 
bers. Rebecca, placed on horseback before one of the 
Templar’s Saracen slaves, was in the midst of the little 
party ; and Bois-Guilbert, notwithstanding the confu- 
sion of the bloody fray, showed every attention to her 
safety. Repeatedly he was by her side, and, neglect- 
ing his own defence, held before her the fence of his 
triangular steel-plated shield; and anon starting from 
his position by her, he cried his war-cry, dashed for- 
ward, struck to earth the most forward of the assailants, 
and was on the same instant once more at her bridle rein. 

Athelstane, who, as the reader knows, was slothful, 
but not cowardly, beheld the female form whom the 
Templar protected thus sedulously, and doubted not 
that it was Rowena whom the knight was carrying off, 
in despite of all resistance which could be offered. 

“ By the soul of St. Edward,” he said, “ I will rescue 
her from yonder over-proud knight, and he shall die 
by my hand ! ” 

“Think what you do!” cried Wamba; “the hasty 
hand catches frog for fish; by my bauble, yonder is 
none of my Lady Rowena, see but her long dark locks ! 
Nay, an ye will not know black from white, ye may be 
leader, but I will be no follower ; no bones of mine shall 
be broken unless I know for whom. And you without 
armour too ! Bethink you, silk bonnet never kept out 
steel blade. Nay, then, if wilful will to water, wilful 
must drench. Deus vobiscum, most doughty Athel- 
stane ! ” he concluded, loosening the hold whict^ he had 
hitherto kept upon the Saxon’s tunic. 

To snatch a mace from the pavement, on which it 
lay beside one whose dying grasp had just relinquished 
it, to rush on the Templar’s band, and to strike in quick 
succession to the right and left, levelling a warrior at 
each blow, was, for Atheist ane’s great strength, now 


IVANIIOE 


3G7 


animated with unusual fury, but the work of a single 
moment ; he was soon within two yards of Bois-Guilbert, 
whom he defied in his loudest tone. 

“Turn, false-hearted Templar! let go her whom 
thou art unw^orthy to touch ; turn, limb of a band of 
murdering and hypocritical robbers I ” 

“Dog!” said the Templar, grinding his teeth, “I 
wdll teach thee to blaspheme the holy order of the 
Temple of Zion ” ; and with these words, half-wheeling 
his steed, he made a demi-courbette towards the Saxon, 
and rising in the stirrups, so as to take full advantage 
of the descent of the horse, he discharged a fearful 
blow upon the head of Atheist ane. 

Well said Wamba, that silken bonnet keeps out no 
steel blade ! So trenchant was the Templar’s weapon, 
that it shore asunder, as it had been a willow twig, the 
tough and plaited handle of the mace, which the ill- 
fated Saxon reared to parry the blow, and, descending 
on his head, levelled him with the earth. 

Ha! Beau-seant!” exclaimed Bois-Guilbert, “thus 
be it to the maligners of the Temple knights ! ” Tak- 
ing advantage of the dismay which was spread by the 
fall of Athelstane, and calling aloud, “ Those who would 
save themselves, follow me ! ” he pushed across the draw^- 
bridge, dispersing the archers who would have inter- 
cepted them. He was followed by his Saracens, and 
some five or six men-at-arms, who had mounted their 
horses. The Templar’s retreat was rendered perilous 
by the numbers of arrows shot off at him and his party : 
but this did not prevent him from galloping round to 
the barbican, of w^hich, according to his previous plan, 
he supposed it possible De Bracy might have been in 
possession. 

“De Bracy! De Bracy!” be shouted, “art thou 
there ? ” 

“ I am here,” replied De Bracy, “ but I am a 
prisoner.” 


368 


IVANHOE 


“Can I rescue thee?” cried Bois-Guilbert. 

“ No,” replied De Bracy ; “ I have rendered me, rescue 
or no rescue. I will be true prisoner. Save thyself ; 
there are hawks abroad. Put the seas betwixt you and 
England; I dare not say more.” 

“Well,” answered the Templar, “ an thou wilt tarry 
there, remember I have redeemed word and glove. Be 
the hawks where they will, methinks the walls of the 
preceptory of Templestowe will be cover sufficient, and 
thither will I, like heron to her haunt.” 

Having thus spoken, he galloped off with his fol- 
lowers. 

Those of the castle who had not gotten to horse, still 
continued to fight desperately with the besiegers, after 
the departure of the Templar, but rather in despair 
of quarter than that they entertained any hope of 
escape. The fire was spreading rapidly through all 
parts of the castle, when Ulrica, who had first kindled 
it, appeared on a turret, in the guise of one of the 
ancient furies, yelling forth a war-song, such as was 
of yore raised on the field of battle by the scalds of the 
yet heathen Saxons. Her long dishevelled gray hair 
flew back from her uncovered head; the inebriating 
delight of gratified vengeance contended in her eyes 
with the fire of insanity ; and she brandished the distaff 
which she held in her hand, as if she had been one of 
the Fatal Sisters who spin and abridge the thread of 
human life. Tradition has preserved some wild strophes 
of the barbarous hymn which she chanted wildly amid 
that scene of fire and of slaughter: — 

Whet the bright steel. 

Sons of the White Dragon! 

Kindle the torch, 

Daughter of Hengist! 

The steel glimmers not foj* the carving of the banquet. 

It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed; 

The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber, 

It streams and glitters blue with sulphur. 


IVANHOE 


3G9 


Whet the steel, the raven croaks! 

Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling! 

Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon! 

Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist! 

The black cloud is low over the thane’s castle; 

The eagle screams — he rides on its bosom. 

Scream not, gray rider of the sable cloud. 

Thy banquet is prepared! 

The maidens of Valhalla look forth. 

The race of Hengist will send them guests. 

Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla! 

And strike your loud timbrels for joy! 

Many a haughty step bends to your halls. 

Many a helmed head. 

Dark sits the evening upon the thane’s castle. 

The black clouds gather round; 

Soon shall they be red as the brood of the valiant! 

The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest against them. 

He, the bright consumer of palaces. 

Broad waves he his blazing banner; 

Red, wide, and dusky. 

Over the strife of the valiant: 

His joy is in the clashing swords and broken bucklers; 

He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts warm from the wound! 

All must perish! 

The sword cleaveth the helmet; 

The strong armour is pierced by the lance; 

Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes; 

Engines break down the fences of the battle. 

All must perish! 

The race of Hengist is gone — 

The name of Horsa is no more! 

Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the sword! 

Let your blades drink blood like wine; 

Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter. 

By the light of the blazing halls! 

Strong be your swords while your blood is warm, 

And spare neither for pity nor fear, 

For vengeance hath but an hour; 

Strong hate itself shall expire! 

I also must perish! 

The towering flames had now surmounted every ob- 
struction, and rose to the evening skies one huge and 
burning beacon, seen far and wude through the adja- 
cent country. Tower after tower crashed down, with 
blazing roof and rafter ; and the combatants were 


370 


IVANHOE 


driven from the courtyard. The vanquished, of whom 
very few remained, scattered and escaped into the neigh- 
bouring wood. The victors, assembling in large bands, 
gazed with wonder, not unmixed with fear, upon the 
flames, in which their own ranks and arms glanced 
dusky red. The maniac figure of the Saxon Ulrica was 
for a long time visible on the lofty stand she had 
chosen, tossing her arms abroad with wdld exultation, 
as if she reigned empress of the conflagration w^hich 
she had raised. At length, wdth a terrific crash, the 
whole turret gave way, and she perished in the flames 
which had consumed her tyrant. An aw'ful pause of 
horror silenced each murmur of the anned spectators, 
w^ho, for the space of several minutes, stirred not a 
finger, save to sign the cross. The voice of Locksley 
was then heard — “ Shout, yeomen ! the den of tyrants 
is no more! Let each bring his spoil to our chosen 
place of rendezvous at the try sting-tree in the Harthill 
Walk; for there at break of day wull we make just 
partition among our own bands, together wdth our 
worthy allies in this great deed of vengeance.” 


CHAPTER XXXII 

Trust me, each state must have its policies: 

Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their charters; 

Even the wild outlaw, in his forest-walk. 

Keeps yet some touch of civil diseijdine; 

For not since Adam wore his verdant apron, 

Hath man with man in social union dwelt. 

But laws were made to draw that union closer. 

Old Play. 

T he daylight had dawned upon the glades of the 
oak forest. The green boughs glittered wdth 
all their pearls of dew. The hind led her fawm 
from the covert of high fern to the more open walks of 
the greenwood, and no huntsman w'as there to watch 


IVANHOE 371 

or intercept the stately hart, as he paced at the head 
of the antlered herd. 

The outlaws were all assembled around the try sting- 
tree in the Harthill Walk, where they had spent the 
night in refreshing themselves after the fatigues of the 
siege — some with wine, some with slumber, many with 
hearing and recounting the events of the day, and com- 
puting the heaps of plunder which their success had 
placed at the disposal of their chief. 

The spoils were indeed very large; for, notwith- 
standing that much was consumed, a great deal of 
plate, rich armour, and splendid clothing had been 
secured by the exertions of the dauntless outlaws, who 
could be appalled by no danger when such rewards 
were in view. Yet so strict were the laws of their so- 
ciety, that no one ventured to appropriate any part 
of the booty, which was brought into one common mass, 
to be ^t the disposal of their leader. 

The place of rendezvous was an aged oak ; not, 
however, the same to which Locksley had conducted 
Gurth and Wamba in the earlier part of the story, but 
one which was the centre of a silvan amphitheatre, 
within half a mile of the demolished castle of Torquil- 
stone. Here Locksley assumed his seat — a throne of 
turf erected under the twisted branches of the huge 
oak, and the silvan followers were gathered around 
him. He assigned to the Black Knight a seat at his 
right hand, and to Cedric a place upon his left. 

“ Pardon my freedom, noble sirs,” he said, “ but in 
these glades I am monarch : they are my kingdom ; 
and these my wild subjects would reck but little of my 
power, were I, within my own dominions, to yield place 
to mortal man. Now, sirs, who hath seen our chaplain 
where is our curtal friar.? A mass amongst Christian 
men best begins a busy morning.” No one had seen 
the clerk of Copmanhurst. “ Over God’s forbode ! ” 
said the outlaw chief, “I trust the jolly priest hath 


372 


IVANHOE 


but abidden by the wine-pot a thought too late. Who 
saw him since the castle was ta’en ? ” 

“ I,” quoth the Miller, “ marked him busy about the 
door of a cellar, swearing by each saint in the calendar 
he would taste the smack of Front-de-Boeuf ’s Gas- 
coigne wine.” 

“ Now, the saints, as many as there be of them,” said 
the captain, “ forefend, lest he has drunk too deep of 
the wine-butts, and perished by the fall of the castle! 
Away, Miller! take with you enow of men, seek the 
place where you last saw him, throw water from the 
moat on the scorching ruins ; I will have them removed 
stone by stone ere I lose my curtal friar.” 

The numbers who hastened to execute this duty, con- 
sidering that an interesting division of spoil was about 
to take place, showed how much the troop had at heart 
the safety of their spiritual father. 

“ Meanwhile, let us proceed,” said Locksley ; ‘‘ for 
when this bold deed shall be sounded abroad, the bands 
of De Bracy, of Malvoisin, and other allies of Front- 
de-Boeuf, will be in motion against us, and it were well 
for our safety that we retreat from the vicinity. Noble 
Cedric,” he said, turning to the Saxon, “that spoil is 
divided into two portions ; do thou make choice of that 
best suits thee, to recompense thy people who were 
partakers wdth us in this adventure.” 

“ Good yeoman,” said Cedric, “ my heart is oppressed 
with sadness. The noble Athelstane of Coningsburgh 
is no more — the last sprout of the sainted Confessor! 
Hopes have perished with him which can never return ! 
A sparkle hath been quenched by his blood which no 
human breath can again rekindle! My people, save 
the few who are now with me, do but tarry my pres- 
ence to transport his honoured remains to their last 
mansion. The Lady Rowena is desirous to return to 
Rotherwood, and must be escorted by a sufficient force. 
T should, therefore, ere now have left this place; and 


IVAXHOE 


373 


I waited, not to share the booty, for, so help me God 
and St. Withold; as neither I nor any of mine will 
touch the value of a hard — I waited but to render my 
thanks to thee and to thy bold yeomen, for the life and 
honour you have saved.” 

“Nay, but,” said the chief outlaw, “we did but half 
the work at most ; take of the spoil what may reward 
your own neighbours and followers.” 

“ I am rich enough to reward them from mine own 
wealth,” answered Cedric. 

“And some,” said Wamba, “have been wise enough 
to reward themselves ; they do not march off empty- 
handed altogether. We do not all wear motley.” 

“ They are welcome,” said Locksley ; “ our laws bind 
none but ourselves.” 

“ But thou, my poor knave,” said Cedric, turning 
about and embracing his J ester, “ how shall I reward 
thee, who feared not to give thy body to chains and 
death instead of mine.'’ All forsook me, when the poor 
fool was faithful ! ” 

A tear stood in the eye of the rough thane as he 
spoke — a mark of feeling which even the death of 
Athelstane had not extracted ; but there was something 
in the half-instinctive attachment of his clown that 
waked his nature more keenly than even grief itself. 

“Nay,” said the Jester, extricating himself from his 
master’s caress, “ if you pay my service with the water 
of your eye, the Jester must weep for company, and 
then what becomes of his vocation But, uncle, if you 
would indeed pleasure me, I pray you to pardon my 
playfellow Gurth, who stole a week from your service 
to bestow it on your son.” 

“ Pardon him ! ” exclaimed Cedric ; “ I will both par- 
don and reward him. Kneel down, Gurth.” The swine- 
herd was in an instant at his master’s feet. “ Theow 
and Esne art thou no longer,” said Cedric, touching 
him with a wand ; “ Folkfree and Sacless art thou 


374 


ANHOE 


in town and from town, in the forest as in the field. A 
hide of land I give to thee in my steads of Walburgham, 
from me and mine to thee and thine aye and for ever; 
and God’s malison on his head who this gainsays ! ” 
No longer a serf but a freeman and a landholder, 
Gurth sprung upon his feet, and twice bounded aloft 
to almost his own height from the ground. 

“ A smith and a file,” he cried, “ to do away the col- 
lar from the neck of a freeman ! Noble master! doubled 
is my strength by your gift, and doubly will I fight for 
you ! There is a free spirit in my breast. I am a man 
changed to myself and all around. Ha, Fangs!” he 
continued, for that faithful cur, seeing his master thus 
transported, began to jump upon him to express his 
sympathy, “ knowest thou thy master still ? ” 

“Ay,” said Wamba, “Fangs and I still know thee, 
Gurth, though we must needs abide by the collar ; it is 
only thou art likely to forget both us and thyself.” 

“ I shall forget myself indeed ere I forget thee, true 
comrade,” said Gurth ; “ and were freedom fit for thee, 
Wamba, the master would not let thee want it.” 

“Nay,” said Wamba, “never think I envy thee, 
brother Gurth; the serf sits by the hall fire when the 
freeman must forth to the field of battle. And what 
saith Aldhelm of Malmsbury — ‘ Better a fool at a feast 
than a wise man at a fray ! ’ ” 

The tramp of horses was now heard, and the Lady 
Rowena appeared, surrounded by several riders, and a 
much stronger party of footmen, who joyfully shook 
their pikes and clashed their brown-bills for joy of her 
freedom. She herself, richly attired, and mounted on a 
dark chestnut palfrey, had recovered all the dignity of 
her manner, and only an unwonted degree of paleness 
showed the sufferings she had undergone. Her lovely 
brow, though sorrowful, bore on it a cast of reviving 
hope for the future, as well as of grateful thankful- 
ness for the past deliverance. She knew that Ivanhoe 


IVANIIOE 


S75 


was safe, and she knew that Athelstane was dead. The 
former assurance filled her with the most sincere delight ; 
and if she did not absolutely rejoice at the latter, she 
might be pardoned for feeling the full advantage of 
being freed from further persecution on the only sub- 
ject in which she had ever been contradicted by her 
guardian Cedric. 

As Rowena bent her steed towards Locksley’s seat, 
that bold yeoman, with all his followers, rose to receive 
her, as if by general instinct of courtesy. The blood 
rose to her cheeks as, courteously waving her hand, and 
bending so low that her beautiful and loose tresses were 
for an instant mixed with the flowing mane of her 
palfrey, she expressed in few but apt words her obliga- 
tions and her gratitude to Locksley and her other de- 
liverers. “ God bless ^mu, brave men,” she concluded — 
‘‘ God and Our Lady bless you and requite you for 
gallantly perilling yourselves in the cause of the op- 
pressed ! If any of you should hunger, remember 
Rowena has food ; if you should thirst, she has many a 
butt of wine and brown ale ; and if the Normans drive 
ye from these walks, Rowena has forests of her own, 
where her gallant deliverers may range at full freedom, 
and never ranger ask whose arrow hath struck down 
the deer.” 

“Thanks, gentle lady,” said Locksley — “thanks 
from my company and myself. But to have saved you 
requites itself. We who walk the greenwood do many 
a wild deed, and the Lady Rowena’s deliverance may be 
received as an atonement.” 

Again bowing from her palfrey, Rowena turned to 
depart ; but pausing a moment, while Cedric, who was 
to attend her, was also taking his leave, she found her- 
self unexpectedly close by the prisoner De Bracy. He 
stood under a tree in deep meditation, his arms crossed 
upon his breast, and Rowena was in hopes that she 
might pass him unobserved. He looked up, however, 


870 


IVANHOE 


and, when aware of her presence, a deep flush of shame 
suffused his handsome countenance. He stood a mo- 
ment most irresolute ; then, stepping forward, took her 
palfrey by the rein and bent his knee before her. 

“Will the Lady Rowena deign to cast an eye on a 
captive knight — on a dishonoured soldier 

“ Sir Knight,” answered Rowena, “ in enterprises 
such as yours, the real dishonour lies not in failure, but 
in success.” 

“ Conquest, lady, should soften the heart,” answered 
De Bracy ; “ let me but know that the Lady Rowena 
forgives the violence occasioned by an ill-fated passion, 
and she shall soon learn that De Bracy knows how to 
serve her in nobler ways.” 

“ I forgive you. Sir Knight,” said Rowena, “ as a 
Christian.” 

“That means,” said Wamba, “that she does not for- 
give him at all.” 

“But I can never forgive the misery and desolation 
your madness has occasioned,” continued Rowena. 

“ Unloose your hold on the lady’s rein,” said Cedric, 
coming up. “ By the bright sun above us, but it were 
shame, I would pin thee to the earth with my javelin; 
but be well assured, thou shalt smart, Maurice de 
Bracy, for thy share in this foul deed.” 

“ He threatens safely who threatens a prisoner,” said 
De Bracy ; “ but when had a Saxon any touch of 
courtesy ? ” 

Then retiring two steps backward, he permitted the 
lady to move on. 

Cedric, ere they departed, expressed his peculiar 
gratitude to the Black Champion, and earnestly en- 
treated him to accompany him to Rotherwood. 

“ I know,” he said, “ that ye errant knights desire 
to carry your fortunes on the point of your lance, and 
reck not of lands or goods ; but war is a changeful 
mistress, aiid a home is sometimes desirable even to the 


IVANHOE 


377 


champion whose trade is wandering. Thou hast earned 
one in the halls of Rotherwood, noble knight. Cedric 
has wealth enough to repair the injuries of fortune, 
and all he has is his deliverer’s. Come, therefore, to 
Rotherwood, not as a guest, but as a son or brother.” 

“ Cedric has already made me rich,” said the Knight ; 
“he has taught me the value of Saxon virtue. To 
Rotherwood will I come, brave Saxon, and that speedily ; 
but, as now, pressing matters of moment detain me from 
your halls. Peradventure, when I come hither, I will 
ask such a boon as will put even thy generosity to the 
test.” 

“ It is granted ere spoken out,” said Cedric, striking 
his ready hand into the gauntleted palm of the Black 
Knight — “it is granted already, were it to affect half 
my fortune.” 

“ Gage not thy promise so lightly,” said the Knight 
of the Fetterlock; “yet well I hope to gain the boon I 
shall ask. Meanwhile, adieu.” 

“ I have but to say,” added the Saxon, “ that, during 
the funeral rites of the noble Athelstane, I shall be an 
inhabitant of the halls of his castle of Coningsburgh. 
They will be open to all who choose to partake of the 
funeral banqueting; and — I speak in name of the 
noble Edith, mother of the fallen prince — they will 
never be shut against him who laboured so bravely, 
though unsuccessfully, to save Athelstane from Norman 
chains and Norman steel.” 

“Ay, ay,” said Wamba, who had resumed his attend- 
ance on his master, “ rare feeding there will be ; pity 
that the noble Athelstane cannot banquet at his own 
funeral. But he,” continued the Jester, lifting up his 
eyes gravely, “is supping in Paradise, and doubtless 
does honour to the cheer.” 

“Peace, and move on,” said Cedric, his anger at 
this untimely jest being checked by the recollection of 
Wamba’s recent services. Rowena waved a graceful 


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adieu to him of the Fetterlock, the Saxon bade God 
speed him, and on they moved through a wide glade 
of the forest. 

They had scarce departed, ere a sudden procession 
moved from under the greenwood branches, swept slowly 
round the silvan amphitheatre, and took the same direc- 
tion with Rowena and her followers. The priests of a 
neighbouring convent, in expectation of the ample do- 
nation, or ‘‘ soul-scat,” which Cedric had propined, at- 
tended upon the car in which the body of Athelstane was 
laid, and sang hymns as it was sadly and slowly home 
on the shoulders of his vassals to his castle of Conings- 
burgh, to be there deposited in the grave of Hengist, 
from whom the deceased derived his long descent. Many 
of his vassals had assembled at the news of his death, 
and followed the bier with all the external marks, at 
least, of dejection and sorrow. Again the outlaws arose, 
and paid the same rude and spontaneous homage to 
death which they had so lately rendered to beauty : the 
slow chant and mournful step of the priests brought 
back to their remembrance such of their comrades as 
had fallen in the yesterday’s affray. But such recol- 
lections dwell not long with those who lead a life of 
danger and enterprise, and ere the sound of the death- 
hymn had died on the wind, the outlaws were again 
busied in the distribution of their spoil. 

“Valiant knight,” said Locksley to the Black Cham- 
pion, “without whose good heart and mighty arm our 
enterprise must altogether have failed, will it please 
you to take from that mass of spoil whatever may best 
serve to pleasure you, and to remind you of this my 
trysting-tree.? ” 

“ I accept the offer,” said the Knight, “ as frankly 
as it is given ; and I ask permission to dispose of Sir 
Maurice de Bracy at my own pleasure.” 

“ He is thine already,” said Locksley, “ and well for 
him! else the tyrant had graced the highest bough of 


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:379 


this oak, with as many of his Free Companions as we 
could gather hanging thick as acorns around him. But 
he is thy prisoner, and he is safe, though he had slain 
my father.” 

“De Bracy,” said the Knight, “thou art free — de- 
part. He whose prisoner thou art scorns to take mean 
revenge for what is past. But beware of the future, 
lest a w’orse thing befall thee. Maurice de Bracy, I say 

BEWARE ! ” 

De Bracy bowed low and in silence, and was about to 
withdraw, when the yeomen burst at once into a shout 
of execration and derision. The proud knight instantly 
stopped, turned back, folded his arms, drew up his 
form to its full height, and exclaimed, “ Peace, ye yelp- 
ing curs ! who open upon a cry which ye followed not 
when the stag was at bay. De Bracy scorns your 
censure as he would disdain your applause. To your 
brakes and caves, ye outlawed thieves ! and be silent 
when aught knightly or noble is but spoken within a 
league of your fox-earths.” 

This ill-timed defiance might have procured for De 
Bracy a volley of arrows, but for the hasty and impera- 
tive interference of the outlaw chief. Meanwhile, the 
knight caught a horse by the rein, for several which 
had been taken in the stables of Front-de-Boeuf stood 
accoutred around, and were a valuable part of the 
booty. He threw himself upon the saddle, and galloped 
off through the wood. 

When the bustle occasioned by this incident was 
somewhat composed, the chief outlaw took from his neck 
the rich horn and baldric which he had recently gained 
at the strife of archery near Ashby. 

“Noble knight,” he said to him of the Fetterlock, 
“if you disdain not to grace by your acceptance a 
bugle which an English yeoman has once worn, this will 
I pray you to keep as a memorial of your gallant bear- 
ing ; and if ye have aught to do, and, as happeneth oft 


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to a gallant knight, ye chance to be hard bested in any 
forest between Trent and Tees, wind three mots upon 
the horn thus, Wa-sa-hoa! and it may well chance ye 
shall find helpers and rescue.” 

He then gave breath to the bugle, and winded once 
and again the call which he described, until the Knight 
had caught the notes. 

“ Gramercy for the gift, bold yeoman,” said the 
Knight ; “ and better help than thine and thy rangers 
would I never seek, were it at my utmost need.” And 
then in his turn he winded the call till all the green- 
wood rang. 

‘‘Well blown and clearly,” said the yeoman; “be- 
shrew me an thou knowest not as much of woodcraft as 
of war! Thou hast been a striker of deer in thy day, 
I warrant. Comrades, mark these three mots, it is the 
call of the Knight of the Fetterlock; and he who hears 
it, and hastens not to serve him at his need, I will have 
him scourged out of our band with his own bowstring.” 

“ Long live our leader ! ” shouted the yeomen, “ and 
long live the Black Knight of the Fetterlock! May 
he soon use our service to prove how readily it will be 
paid.” 

Locksley now proceeded to the distribution of the 
spoil, which he performed with the most laudable im- 
partiality. A tenth part of the whole was set apart for 
the church and for pious uses ; a portion was next al- 
lotted to a sort of public treasury ; a part was assigned 
to the widows and children of those who had fallen, or 
to be expended in masses for the souls of such as had 
left no surviving family. The rest was divided amongst 
the outlaws, according to their rank and merit ; and 
the judgment of the chief, on all such doubtful questions 
as occurred, was delivered with great shrewdness, and 
received with absolute submission. The Black Knight 
was not a little surprised to find that men in a state so 
lawless were nevertheless among themselves so regularly 


IVANHOE 


381 


and equitably governed, and all that he observed added 
to his opinion of the j ustice and j udgment of their leader. 

When each had taken his own proportion of the 
booty, and while the treasurer, accompanied by four tall 
yeomen, was transporting that belonging to the state 
to some place of concealment or of security, the portion 
devoted to the church still remained unappropriated. 

“ I would,” said the leader, “ we could hear tidings 
of our joyous chaplain ; he was never wont to be absent 
when meat was to be blessed, or spoil to be parted ; and 
it is his duty to take care of these the tithes of our 
successful enterprise. It may be the office has helped 
to cover some of his canonical irregularities. Also, I 
have a holy brother of his a prisoner at no great dis- 
tance, and I would fain have the Friar to help me to deal 
with him in due sort. I greatly misdoubt the safety of 
the bluff priest.” 

“ I were right sorry for that,” said the Knight of the 
Fetterlock, “ for I stand indebted to him for the joyous 
hospitality of a merry night in his cell. Let us to the 
ruins of the castle ; it may be we shall there learn some 
tidings of him.” 

While they thus spoke, a loud shout among the yeo- 
men announced the arrival of him for whom they feared, 
as they learned from the stentorian voice of the Friar 
himself, long before they saw his burly person. 

“ Make room, my merry men ! ” he exclaimed — 
“ room for your godly father and his prisoner. Cry 
welcome once more. I come, noble leader, like an eagle 
with my prey in my clutch.” And making his way 
through the ring, amidst the laughter of all around, he 
appeared in majestic triumph, his huge partizan in one 
hand, and in the other a halter, one end of which was 
fastened to the neck of the unfortunate Isaac of York, 
who, bent down by sorrow and terror, was dragged on 
by the victorious priest, who shouted aloud, “ Where 
is Allan-a-Dale, to chronicle me in a ballad, or if it were 


38 £ 


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but a lay? By St. Hermangild, the jingling crowder 
is ever out of the way where there is an apt theme for 
exalting valour ! ” 

“ Curtal priest,” said the captain, “ thou hast been 
at a wet mass this morning, as early as it is. In the 
name of St. Nicholas, whom hast thou got here?” 

“ A captive to my sword and to my lance, noble 
captain,” replied the clerk of Copmanhurst — “to my 
bow and to my halberd, I should rather say; and yet 
I have redeemed him by my divinity from a worse cap- 
tivity. Speak, Jew — have I not ransomed thee from 
Sathanas? — have I not taught thee thy credo, thy 
pater, and thine Ave Maria? Did I not spend the 
whole night in drinking to thee, and in expounding of 
mysteries ? ” 

“For the love of God!” ejaculated the poor Jew, 
“ will nO' one take me out of the keeping of this mad 
— I mean this holy man?” 

“ How ’s this, Jew? ” said the Friar, with a menacing 
aspect; “dost thou recant, Jew? Bethink thee, if thou 
dost relapse into thine infidelity, though thou art not 
so tender as a suckling pig — I would I had one to 
break my fast upon — thou art not too tough to be 
roasted ! Be conformable, Isaac, and repeat the words 
after me. Ave Maria! — ” 

“Nay, we will have no profanation, mad priest,” 
said Locksley ; “ let us rather hear where you found 
this prisoner of thine.” 

“By St. Dunstan,” said the Friar, “I found him 
where I sought for better ware 1 I did step into the 
cellarage to see what might be rescued there ; for 
though a cup of burnt wine, with spice, be an evening’s 
draught for an emperor, it were waste, methought, to 
let so much good liquor be mulled at once ; and I caught 
up one runlet of sack, and was coming to call more aid 
among these lazy knaves, who are ever to seek when a 
good deed is to be done, when I was advised of a strong 


IVANHOE 


383 


door. “Aha!” thought I, “here is the choicest juice 
of all in this secret crypt ; and the knave butler, being 
disturbed in his vocation, hath left the key in the door.” 
In therefore I went, and found just nought besides a 
commodity of rusted chains and this dog of a Jew, who 
presently rendered himself my prisoner, rescue or no 
rescue. I did but refresh myself after the fatigue of 
the action with the unbeliever with one humming cup 
of sack, and was proceeding to lead forth my captive, 
when, crash after crash, as with wild thunder-dint and 
levin-fire, down toppled the masonry of an outer tower 
— marry beshrew their hands that built it not the 
firmer ! — and blocked up the passage. The roar of one 
falling tower followed another. I gave up thought of 
life ; and deeming it a dishonour to one of my profes- 
sion to pass out of this world in company with a Jew, 
I heaved up my halberd to beat his brains out; but I 
took pity on his gray hairs, and judged it better to 
lay down the partizan, and take up my spiritual 
weapon for his conversion. And truly, by the bless- 
ing of St. Dunstan, the seed has been sown in good soil ; 
only that, with speaking to him of mysteries through 
the whole night, and being in a manner fasting — for 
the few draughts of sack which I sharpened my wits 
with were not worth marking — my head is wellnigh 
dizzied, I trow. But I was clean exhausted. Gilbert 
and Wibbald know in what state they found me — quite 
and clean exhausted.” 

“We can bear witness,” said Gilbert; “for when we 
had cleared away the ruin, and by St. Dunstan’s help 
lighted upon the dungeon stair, we found the runlet of 
sack half-empty, the Jew half-dead, and the Friar more 
than half — exhausted, as he calls it.” 

“ Ye be knaves ! ye lie I ” retorted the offended Friar ; 
“it was you and your gormandizing companions that 
drank up the sack, and called it your morning draught. 
I am a pagan, an I kept it not for the captain’s own 


384 


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throat. But what recks it? The Jew is converted, and 
understands all I have told him, very nearly, if not 
altogether, as well as myself.” 

“Jew,” said the captain, “is this true? Hast thou 
renounced thine unbelief?” 

“May I so find mercy in your eyes,” said the Jew, 
“ as I know not one word which the reverend prelate 
spake to me all this fearful night. Alas ! I was so dis- 
traught with agony, and fear, and grief, that had our 
holy father Abraham come to preach to me, he had 
found but a deaf listener.” 

“Thou liest, Jew, and thou knowest thou dost,” said 
the Friar; “I will remind thee but of one word of our 
conference: thou didst promise to give all thy sub- 
stance to our holy order.” 

“ So help me the promise, fair sirs,” said Isaac, even 
more alarmed than before, “ as no such sounds ever 
crossed my lips ! Alas ! I am an aged beggar’d man — 
I fear me a childless ; have ruth on me, and let me go ! ” 
“Nay,” said the Friar, “if thou dost retract vows 
made in favour of holy church, thou must do penance.” 

Accordingly he raised his halberd, and would have 
laid the staff of it lustily on the Jew’s shoulders, had 
not the Black Knight stopped the blow, and thereby 
transferred the holy clerk’s resentment to himself. 

“ By St. Thomas of Kent,” said he, “ an I buckle to 
my gear, I will teach thee, sir lazy lover, to mell with 
thine own matters, maugre thine iron case there ! ” 
“Nay, be not wroth with me,” said the Knight; 
“thou knowest I am thy sworn friend and comrade.” 

“ I know no such thing,” answered the Friar ; “ and 
defy thee for a meddling coxcomb ! ” 

“Nay, but,” said the Knight, who seemed to take a 
pleasure in provoking his quondam host, “hast thou 
forgotten how, that for my sake — for I say nothing 
of the temptation of the flagon and the pasty — thou 
didst break thy vow of fast and vigil?” 


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385 


“Truly, friend,” said the Friar, clenching his huge 
fist, “ I will bestow a buffet on thee.” 

“ I accept of no such presents,” said the Knight ; 
“I am content to take thy cuff as a loan, but I will 
repay thee with usury as deep as ever thy prisoner 
there exacted in his traffic.” 

“ I will prove that presently,” said the Friar. 

“ Hola ! ” cried the captain, “ what art thou after, 
mad Friar — brawling beneath our trysting-tree ” 

“No brawling,” said the Knight; “it is but a 
friendly interchange of courtesy. Friar, strike an thou 
darest ; I will stand thy blow, if thou wilt stand mine.” 

“ Thou hast the advantage with that iron pot on thy 
head,” said the churchman ; “ but have at thee. Down 
thou goest, an thou wert Goliath of Gath in his brazen 
helmet.” 

The Friar bared his brawny arm up to the elbow, and 
putting his full strength to the blow, gave the Knight 
a buffet that might have felled an ox. But his adver- 
sary stood firm as a rock. A loud shout was uttered 
by all the yeomen around; for the clerk’s cuff was 
proverbial amongst them, and there were few who, in 
jest or earnest, had not had occasion to know its 
vigor. 

“Now, priest,” said the Knight, pulling off his gaunt- 
let, “ if I had vantage on my head, I will have none on 
my hand; stand fast as a true man.” 

“ Genam meam dedi vapulatori — I have given my 
cheek to the smiter,” said the priest ; “ an thou canst 
stir me from the spot, fellow, T will freely bestow on 
thee the Jew’s ransom.” 

So spoke the burly priest, assuming, on his part, 
high defiance. But who may resist his fate.? The 
buffet of the Knight was given with such strength and 
good-will that the Friar rolled head over heels upon the 
plain, to the great amazement of all the spectators. 
But he arose neither angry nor crestfallen. 

25 


386 


IVANHOE 


“Brother,” said he to the Knight, “thou shouldst 
have used thy strength with more discretion. I had 
mumbled but a lame mass an thou hadst broken my jaw, 
for the piper plays ill that wants the nether chops. 
Nevertheless, there is my hand, in friendly witness that 
I will exchange no more cutfs with thee, having been a 
loser by the barter. End now all unkindness. Let us 
put the Jew to ransom, since the leopard will not change 
his spots, and a Jew he will continue to be.” 

“ The priest,” said Clement, “ is not half so confident 
of the Jew’s conversion since he received that buffet on 
the ear.” 

“ Go to, knave, what pratest thou of conversions ? 
What, is there no respect.? — all masters and no men? 
I tell thee, fellow, I was somewhat totty when I received 
the good knight’s blow, or I had kept my ground under 
it. But an thou gibest more of it, thou shalt learn I 
can give as well as take.” 

“Peace all!” said the captain. “And thou, Jew, 
think of thy ransom; thou needest not to be told that 
thy race are held to be accursed in all Christian com- 
munities, and trust me that we cannot endure th}^ pres- 
ence among us. Think, therefore, of an offer, while I 
examine a prisoner of another cast.” 

“Were many of Front-de-Boeuf ’s men taken.?” de- 
manded the Black Knight. 

“ None of note enough to be put to ransom,” answered 
the captain ; “ a set of hilding fellows there were, whom 
we dismissed to find them a new master ; enough had 
been done for revenge and profit; the bunch of them 
were not worth a cardecu. The prisoner I speak of is 
better booty — a jolly monk riding to visit his leman, 
an I may judge by his horse-gear and wearing apparel. 
Here cometh the worthy prelate, as pert as a pyet.” 
And between two yeomen was brought before the silvan 
throne of the outlaw chief our friend, Prior Aymer 
of Jorvaulx. 


IVANHOE 


387 


CHAPTER XXXIII 

Flower of warriors, 

How is’t with Titus Lartius? 

Marcius. As with a man busied about decrees. 
Condemning some to death and some to exile. 

Ransoming him or pitying, threatening the other. 

Coriolanus. 

T he captive Abbot’s features and manners ex- 
hibited a whimsical mixture of offended pride, 
and deranged foppery, and bodily terror. 

“ Why, how now, my masters ” said he, with a voice 
in which all three emotions were blended. “ What order 
is this among ye.^ Be ye Turks or Christians, that 
handle a churchman Know ye that it is, manus im- 
ponere in servos Domini? Ye have plundered my mails, 
torn my cope of curious cut lace, which might have 
served a cardinal. Another in my place would have 
been at his excommunicaho vos; but I am placable, and 
if ye order forth my palfreys, release my brethren, and 
restore my mails, tell down with all speed an hundred 
crowns to be expended in masses at the high altar of 
Jorvaulx Abbey, and make your vow to eat no venison 
until next Pentecost, it may be you shall hear little more 
of this mad frolic.” 

“ Holy father,” said the chief outlaw, “ it grieves me 
to think that you have met with such usage from any 
of my followers as calls for your fatherly reprehension.” 

“ Usage ! ” echoed the priest, encouraged by the mild 
tone of the silvan leader ; “ it were usage fit for no 
hound of good race, much less for a Christian, far less 
for a priest, and least of all for the prior of the holy 
community of Jorvaulx. Here is a profane and 
drunken minstrel, called Allan-a-Dale — nehulo qui- 
dam — who has menaced me with corporal punishment 
— nay, with death itself, an I pay not down four 


388 


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hundred crowns of ransom, to the boot of all the treas- 
ure he hath already robbed me of — gold chains and 
gymmal rings to an unknown value ; besides what is 
broken and spoiled among their rude hands, such as my 
pouncet-box and silver crisping-tongs.” 

“ It is impossible that Allan-a-Dale can have thus 
treated a man of your reverend bearing,” replied the 
captain. 

“ It is true as the gospel of St. Nicodemus,” said the 
Prior ; “ he swore, with many a cruel north-country 
oath, that he would hang me up on the highest tree in 
the greenwood.” 

“Did he so in very deed? Nay, then, reverend 
father, I think you had better comply with his demands, 
for Allan-a-Dale is the very man to abide by his word 
when he has so pledged it.” 

“ You do but jest with me,” said the astounded Prior, 
with a forced laugh; “and I love a good jest with all 
my heart. But, ha ! ha ! ha ! when the mirth has lasted 
the livelong night, it is time to be grave in the 
morning.” 

“ And I am as grave as a father confessor,” replied 
the outlaw ; “ you must pay a round ransom. Sir Prior, 
or your convent is likely to be called to a new election ; 
for 3mur place will know you no more.” 

“ Are ye Christians,” said the Prior, “ and hold this 
language to a churchman ? ” 

“ Christians ! ay, marry are we, and have divinity 
among us to boot,” answered the outlaw. “ Let our 
buxom chaplain stand forth, and expound to this rever- 
end father the texts which concern this matter.” 

The Friar, half-drunk, half-sober, had huddled a 
friar’s frock over his green cassock, and now summon- 
ing together whatever scraps of learning he had ac- 
quired by rote in former days — “Holy father,” said 
he, Deus faciat salvam henignitatem vestram — you 
are welcome to the greenwood.” 


IVANHOE 


389 


“What profane mummery is this?” said the Prior. 
“Friend, if thou be’st indeed of the church, it were a 
better deed to show me how I may escape from these 
men’s hands than to stand ducking and grinning here 
like a morris-dancer.” 

“Truly, reverend father,” said the Friar, “I know 
but one mode in which thou mayest escape. This is St. 
Andrew’s day with us : we are taking our tithes.” 

“ But not of the church, then, I trust, my good 
brother?” said the Prior. 

“ Of church and lay,” said the Friar ; “ and there- 
fore, Sir Prior, facite vobis amicos de mammone ini- 
quitatis — make yourselves friends of the mammon of 
unrighteousness, for no other friendship is like to serve 
your turn.” 

“I love a jolly woodsman at heart,” said the Prior, 
softening his tone; “come, ye must not deal too hard 
with me. I can well of woodcraft, and can wind a 
horn clear and lustily, and hollo till every oak rings 
again. Come, ye must not deal too hard with me.” 

“ Give him a horn,” said the outlaw ; “ we will prove 
the skill he boasts of.” 

The Prior Aymer winded a blast accordingly. The 
captain shook his head. 

“ Sir Prior,” he said, “ thou blowest a merry note, 
but it may not ransom thee; we cannot afford, as the 
legend on a good knight’s shield hath it, to set thee 
free for a blast. Moreover, I have found thee: thou 
art one of those who, with new French graces and tra- 
li-ras, disturb the ancient English bugle notes. Prior, 
that last flourish on the recheat hath added flfty crowns 
to thy ransom, for corrupting the true old manly blasts 
of venerie.”* 

“ Well, friend,” said the Abbot, peevishly, “ thou art 
ill to please with thy woodcraft. I pray thee be more 
conformable in this matter of my ransom. At a word 
• — since I must needs, for once, hold a candle to the devil 


S90 


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— what ransom am I to pay for walking on Watling 
Street without having fifty men at my back?” 

“Were it not well,” said the lieutenant of the gang 
apart to the captain, “that the Prior should name the 
Jew’s ransom, and the Jew name the Prior’s?” 

“ Thou art a mad knave,” said the captain, “ but 
thy plan transcends ! Here, Jew, step forth. Look at 
that holy Father Aymer, Prior of the rich Abbey of 
Jorvaulx, and tell us at what ransom we should hold 
him? Thou knowest the income of his convent, I war- 
rant thee.” 

“ O, assuredly,” said Isaac. “ I have trafficked with 
the good fathers, and bought wheat and barley, and 
fruits of the earth, and also much wool. O, it is a rich 
abbey-stede, and they do live upon the fat, and drink 
the sweet wines upon the lees, these good fathers of Jor- 
vaulx. Ah, if an outcast like me had such a home to 
go to, and such incomings by the year and by the 
month, I would pay much gold and silver to redeem my 
captivity.” 

“Hound of a Jew!” exclaimed the Prior, “no one 
knows better than thy own cursed self that our holy 
house of God is indebted for the finishing of our 
chancel — ” 

“ And for the storing of your cellars in the last 
season with the due allowance of Gascon wine,” inter- 
rupted the Jew; “but that — that is small matters.” 

“ Hear the infidel dog I ” said the churchman ; “ he 
jangles as if our holy community did come under debts 
for the wines we have a license to drink propter necessi- 
tatem et ad frigus depellendum. The circumcised vil- 
lain blasphemeth the holy church, and Christian men 
listen, and rebuke him not!” 

“ All this helps nothing,” said the leader. “ Isaac, 
pronounce what he may pay, without flaying both hide 
and hair.” 

“An six hundred crowns,” said Isaac, “the good 


IVANHOE 


391 


Prior might well pay to your honoured valours, and 
never sit less soft in his stall.” 

“ Six hundred crowns,” said the leader, gravely ; 
“I am contented — thou hast well spoken, Isaac — 
six hundred crowns. It is a sentence. Sir Prior.” 

“ A sentence ! — a sentence ! ” exclaimed the band ; 
“ Solomon had not done it better.” 

“ Thou hearest thy doom. Prior,” said the leader. 

“ Ye are mad, my masters,” said the Prior ; “ where 
am I to find such a sum.^^ If I sell the very pyx and 
candlesticks on the altar at Jorvaulx, I shall scarce 
raise the half ; and it will be necessary for that pur- 
pose that I go to Jorvaulx myself ; ye may retain as 
borrows my two priests.” 

“ That will be but blind trust,” said the outlaw ; “ we 
will retain thee. Prior, and send them to fetch thy 
ransom. Thou shalt not want a cup of wine and a col- 
lop of venison the while ; and if thou lovest woodcraft, 
thou shalt see such as your north country never 
witnessed.” 

“Or, if so please you,” said Isaac, willing to curry 
favour with the outlaws, “ I can send to York for the 
six hundred crowns, out of certain moneys in my hands, 
if so be that the most reverend Prior present will grant 
me a quittance.” 

“ He shall grant thee whatever thou dost list, Isaac,” 
said the captain ; “ and thou shalt lay down the re- 
demption money for Prior Aymer as well as for thy- 
self.” 

“For myself! ah, courageous sirs,” said the Jew, 
“I am a broken and impoverished man; a beggar’s 
staff must be my portion through life, supposing I were 
to pay you fifty crowns.” 

“ The Prior shall judge of that matter,” replied the 
captain. “How say you. Father Aymer.? Can the 
Jew afford a good ransom?” 

^^Can he afford a ransom?” answered the Prior. 


392 


IVANHOE 


“ Is he not Isaac of York, rich enough to redeem the 
captivity of the ten tribes of Israel who were led into 
Assyrian bondage? I have seen but little of him my- 
self, but our cellarer and treasurer have dealt largely 
with him, and report says that his house at York is so 
full of gold and silver as is a shame in any Christian 
land. Marvel it is to all living Christian hearts that 
such gnawing adders should be suffered to eat into the 
bowels of the state, and even of the holy church herself, 
with foul usuries and extortions.” 

“Hold, father,” said the Jew, “mitigate and as- 
suage your choler. I pray of your reverence to re- 
member that I force my moneys upon no one. But 
when churchman and layman, prince and prior, knight 
and priest, come knocking to Isaac’s door, they borrow 
not his shekels with these uncivil terms. It is then, 
‘Friend Isaac, will you pleasure us in this matter, and 
our day shall be truly kept, so God sa’ me ? ’ — and 
‘ Kind Isaac, if ever you served man, show yourself a 
friend in this need ! ’ And when the day comes, and I 
ask my own, then what hear I but ‘Damned Jew,’ and 
‘ The curse of Egypt on your tribe,’ and all that may 
stir up the rude and uncivil populace against poor 
strangers ! ” 

“ Prior,” said the captain, “ Jew though he is, he 
hath in this spoken well. Do thou, therefore, name 
his ransom, as he named thine, without further rude 
terms.” 

“None but latro famosus — the interpretation 
whereof,” said the Prior, “will I give at some other 
time and tide — would place a Christian prelate and an 
unbaptized Jew upon the same bench. But since ye 
require me to put a price upon this caitiff, I tell you 
openly that ye will wrong yourselves if you take from 
him a penny under a thousand crowns.” 

“ A sentence ! — a sentence ! ” said the chief outlaw. 

“A sentence! — a sentence!” shouted his assessors; 


IVANHOE 


393 


“the Christian has shown his good nurture, and dealt 
with us more generously than the Jew.” 

“ The God of my fathers help me ! ” said the Jew ; 
“will ye bear to the ground an impoverished creature.'^ 
I am this day childless, and will ye deprive me of the 
means of livelihood.'^” 

“ Thou wilt have the less to provide for, Jew, if thou 
art childless,” said Aymer. 

“ Alas ! my lord,” said Isaac, “ your law permits you 
not to know how the child of our bosom is entwined 
with the strings of our heart. O Rebecca ! daughter of 
my beloved Rachael ! were each leaf on thg-t tree a zec- 
chin, and each zecchin mine own, all that mass of wealth 
would I give to know whether thou art alive, and es- 
caped the hands of the Nazarene!” 

“Was not thy daughter dark-haired ” said one 
of the outlaws ; “ and wore she not a veil of twisted 
sendal, broidered with silver.?” 

“ She did ! — she did ! ” said the old man, trembling 
with eagerness as formerly with fear. “The blessing 
of Jacob be upon thee! canst thou tell me aught of her 
safety.? ” 

“ It was she, then,” said the yeoman, “ who was car- 
ried off by the proud Templar, when he broke through 
our ranks on yestereven. I had drawn my bow to send a 
shaft after him, but spared him even for the sake of the 
damsel, who I feared might take harm from the arrow.” 

“ Oh I answered the Jew, “ I would to God thou hadst 
shot, though the arrow had pierced her bosom I Better 
the tomb of her fathers than the dishonourable couch 
of the licentious and savage Templar. Ichabod! Icha- 
bod! the glory hath departed from my house!” 

“Friends,” said the chief, looking round, “the old 
man is but a Jew, natheless his grief touches me. Deal 
uprightly with us, Isaac : will paying this ransom of a 
thousand crowns leave thee altogether penniless.?” 

Isaac, recalled to think of his worldly goods, the love 


394 


IVANHOE 


of which, by dint of inveterate habit, contended even 
with his parental affection, grew pale, stammered, and 
could not deny there might be some small surplus. 

“ Well, go to, what though there be,” said the outlaw, 
“we will not reckon with thee too closely. Without 
treasure thou mayest as well hope to redeem thy child 
from the clutches of Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert as to 
shoot a stag- royal with a headless shaft. We will take 
thee at the same ransom with Prior Aymer, or rather 
at one hundred crowns lower, wliich hundred crowns 
shall be mine own peculiar loss, and not light upon this 
worshipful community ; and so we shall avoid the 
heinous offence of rating a Jew merchant as high as a 
Christian prelate, and thou wilt have six [five] hun- 
dred crowns remaining to treat for thy daughter’s ran- 
som. Templars love the glitter of silver shekels as well 
as the sparkle of black eyes. Hasten to make thy 
crowns chink in the ear of De Bois-Guilbert, ere worse 
comes of it. Thou wilt find him, as our scouts have 
brought notice, at the next preceptory house of his 
order. Said I well, my merry mates ^ ” 

The yeomen expressed their wonted acquiescence in 
their leader’s opinion ; and Isaac, relieved of one half 
of his apprehensions, by learning that his daughter 
lived, and might possibly be ransomed, threw himself 
at the feet of the generous outlaw, and, rubbing his 
beard against his buskins, sought to kiss the hem of 
his green cassock. The captain drew himself back, and 
extricated himself from the Jew’s grasp, not without 
some marks of contempt. 

“ Nay, beshrew thee, man, up with thee ! I am Eng- 
lish born, and love no such Eastern prostrations. 
Kneel to God, and not to a poor sinner like me.” 

“Ay, Jew,” said Prior Aymer, “kneel to God, as 
represented in the servant of His altar, and who knows, 
with thy sincere repentance and due gifts to the shrine 
of St. Robert, what grace thou mayest acquire for 


IVANHOE 


395 


thyself and thy daughter Rebecca? I grieve for the 
maiden, for she is of fair and comely countenance: 
I beheld her in the lists of Ashby. Also Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert is one with whom I may do much : bethink thee 
how thou mayest deserve my good word with him.” 

“Alas! alas!” said the Jew, “on every hand the 
spoilers arise against me: I am given as a prey unto 
the Assyrian, and a prey unto him of Egypt.” 

“And what else should be the lot of thy accursed 
race?” answered the Prior; “for what saith Holy 
Writ, verhum Domini projecerunt, et sapientia est 
nulla in eis — they have cast forth the Word of the 
Lord, and there is no wisdom in them — propterea daho 
mulieres eorum escteris — I will give their women to 
strangers, that is to the Templar, as in the present 
matter — et thesauros eorum hceredihus alienis — and 
their treasures to others, as in the present case to these 
honest gentlemen.” 

Isaac groaned deeply, and began to wring his hands, 
and to relapse into his state of desolation and despair. 
But the leader of the yeomen led him aside. 

“ Advise thee well, Isaac,” said Locksley, “ what thou 
wilt do in this matter ; my counsel to thee is to make a 
friend of this churchman. He is vain, Isaac, and he is 
covetous ; at least he needs money to supply his pro- 
fusion. Thou canst easily gratify his greed ; for think 
not that I am blinded by thy pretexts of poverty. I am 
intimately acquainted, Isaac, with the very iron chest 
in which thou dost keep thy money-bags. What ! 
know I not the great stone beneath the apple-tree, that 
leads into the vaulted chamber under thy garden at 
York?” The Jew grew as pale as death. “But fear 
nothing from me,” continued the yeoman, “ for we are 
of old acquainted. Dost thou not remember the sick 
yeoman whom thy fair daughter Rebecca redeemed 
from the gyves at York, and kept him in thy house 
till his health was restored, when thou didst dismiss him 


396 


IVANHOE 


recovered, and with a piece of money? Usurer as thou 
art, thou didst never place coin at better interest than 
that poor silver mark, for it has this day saved thee five 
hundred crowns.” 

‘‘And thou art he whom we called Diccon Bend-the- 
Bow ? ” said Isaac ; “ I thought ever I knew the accent 
of thy voice.” 

“ I am Bend-the-Bow,” said the captain, “ and 
Locksley, and have a good name besides all these.” 

“ But thou art mistaken, good Bend-the-Bow, con- 
cerning that same vaulted apartment. So help me 
Heaven, as there is nought in it but some merchandise 
which I will gladly part with to you — one hundred 
yards of Lincoln green to make doublets to thy men, 
and a hundred staves of Spanish yew to make bows, 
and one hundred silken bowstrings, tough, round, and 
sound — these will I send thee for thy good-will, honest 
Diccon, an thou wilt keep silence about the vault, my 
good Diccon.” 

“ Silent as a dormouse,” said the outlaw ; “ and 
never trust me but I am grieved for thy daughter. But 
I may not help it. The Templar’s lances are too 
strong for my archery in the open field; they would 
scatter us like dust. Had I but known it was Rebecca 
when she was borne off, something might have been 
done; but now thou must needs proceed by policy. 
Come, shall I treat for thee with the Prior?” 

“ In God’s name, Diccon, an thou canst, aid me to 
recover the child of my bosom ! ” 

“ Do not thou interrupt me with thine ill-timed 
avarice,” said the outlaw, “and I will deal with him 
in thy behalf.” 

He then turned from the Jew, who followed him, how- 
ever, as closely as his shadow. 

“ Prior Aymer,” said the captain, “ come apart with 
me under this tree. Men say thou dost love wine and a 
lady’s smile better than beseems thy order. Sir Priest; 


IVANHOE 


397 


but with that I have nought to do. I have heard, too, 
thou dost love a brace of good dogs and a fleet horse, 
and it may well be that, loving things which are costly 
to come by, thou hatest not a purse of gold. But I have 
never heard that thou didst love oppression or cruelty. 
Now, here is Isaac willing to give thee the mean^ of 
pleasure and pastime in a bag containing one hundred 
marks of silver, if thy intercession with thine ally the 
Templar shall avail to procure the freedom of his 
daughter.” 

“In safety and honour, as when taken from me,” 
said the Jew, “ otherwise it is no bargain.” 

“ Peace, Isaac,” said the outlaw, “ or I give up thine 
interest. What say you to this my purpose. Prior 
Aymer ? ” 

“ The matter,” quoth the Prior, “ is of a mixed con- 
dition ; for, if I do a good on the one hand, yet, on the 
other, it goeth to the vantage of a Jew, and in so much 
is against my conscience. Yet, if the Israelite will 
advantage the church by giving me somewhat over to 
the building of our dortour, I will take it on my con- 
science to aid him in the matter of his daughter.” 

“For a score of marks to the dortour,” said the 
outlaw — “Be still, I say, Isaac! — or for a brace of 
silver candlesticks to the altar, we will not stand with 
you.” 

“Nay, but, good Diccon Bend-the-Bow,” said Isaac, 
endeavouring to interpose. 

“Good Jew — good beast — good earthworm!” said 
the yeoman, losing patience ; “ an thou dost go on to 
put thy filthy lucre in the balance with thy daughter’s 
life and honour, by Heaven, I will strip thee of every 
maravedi thou hast in the world before three days are 
out ! ” 

Isaac shrunk together, and was silent. 

“And what pledge am I to have for all this.?^” said 
the Prior. 


398 


IVANHOE 


“ When Isaac returns successful through your medi- 
ation,” said the outlaw, “ I swear by St. Hubert, I will 
see that he pays thee the money in good silver, or I will 
reckon with him for it in such sort, he. had better have 
paid twenty such sums.” 

“Well then, Jew,” said'Aymer, “since I must needs 
meddle in this matter, det me have the use of thy writ- 
ing-tablets — though! hold — rather than use thy pen, 
I would fast for tw^ity-four hours, and where shall I 
find one ? ” 

“ If your holy scruples can dispense with using the 
Jew’s tablets, for the pen I can find a remedy,” said 
the yeoman ; and, bending his bow, he aimed his shaft 
at a wild goose which was soaring over their heads, 
the advanced guard of a phalanx of his tribe, which 
were winging their way to the distant and solitary fens 
of Holderness. The bird came fluttering down, trans- 
fixed with the arrow. 

“ There, Prior,” said the captain, “ are quills enow 
to supply all the monks of Jorvaulx for the next hun- 
dred years, an they take not to writing chronicles.” 

The Prior sat down, and at great leisure indited an 
epistle to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and having carefully 
sealed up the tablets, delivered them to the Jew, saying, 
“ This will be thy safe-conduct to the preceptory of 
Templestowe, and, as I think, is most likely to accom- 
plish the delivery of thy daughter, if it be well backed 
with proffers of advantage and commodity at thine 
own hand; for, trust me well, the good knight Bois- 
Guilbert is of their confraternity that do nought for 
nought.” 

“ Well, Prior,” said the outlaw, “ I will detain thee 
no longer here than to give the Jew a quittance for the 
five hundred crowns at which thy ransom is fixed — I 
accept of him for my paymaster; and if I hear that 
ye boggle at allowing him in his accompts the sum so 
paid by him, St. Mary refuse me, an I burn not the 


IVANHOE 399 

abbey over thine head, though I hang ten years the 
sooner ! ” 

With a much worse grace than that wherewith he had 
penned the letter to Bois-Guilbert, the Prior wrote an 
acquittance, discharging Isaac of York of five hundred 
crowns, advanced to him in his need for acquittal of 
his ransom, and faithfully promising to hold true compt 
with him for that sum. 

“ And now,” said Prior Aymer, “ I will pray you of 
restitution of my mules and palfreys, and the freedom 
of the reverend brethren attending upon me, and also 
of the gymmal rings, jewels, and fair vestures of which 
I have been despoiled, having now satisfied you for my 
ransom as a true prisoner.” 

“ Touching your brethren. Sir Prior,” said Locks- 
ley, “they shall have present freedom, it were unjust 
to detain them; touching your horses and mules, they 
shall also be restored, with such spending-money as may 
enable you to reach York, for it were cruel to deprive 
you of the means of journeying. But as concerning 
rings, jewels, chains, and what else, you must under- 
stand that we are men of tender consciences, and will 
not yield to a venerable man like yourself, who should 
be dead to the vanities of this life, the strong tempta- 
tion to break the rule of his foundation, by wearing 
rings, chains, or other vain gauds.” 

“ Think what you do, my masters,” said the Prior, 
“ere you put your hand on the church’s patrimony. 
These things are inter res sacras, and I wot not what 
judgment might ensue were they to be handled by laical 
hands.” 

“ I will take care of that, reverend Prior,” said 
the hermit of Copmanhurst ; “ for I will wear them 
myself.” 

“Friend, or brother,” said the Prior, in answer to 
this solution of his doubts, “if thou hast really taken 
religious orders, I pray thee to look how thou wilt 


400 IVANHOE 

answer to thine official for the share thou hast taken 
in this day’s work.” 

“Friend Prior,” returned the hermit, “you are to 
know that I belong to a little diocese where I am my 
own diocesan, and care as little for the Bishop of York 
as I do for the Abbot of Jorvaulx, the Prior, and all 
the convent.” 

“ Thou art utterly irregular,” said the Prior — “ one 
of those disorderly men who, taking on them the sacred 
character without due cause, profane the holy rites, and 
endanger the souls of those who take counsel at their 
hands ; lapides pro pane condonantes its., giving them 
stones instead of bread, as the Vulgate hath it.” 

“ Nay,” said the Friar, “ an my brain-pan could have 
been broken by Latin, it had not held so long together. 
I say, that easing a world of such misproud priests as 
thou art of their jewels and their gimcracks is a lawful 
spoiling of the Egyptians.” 

“ Thou be’st a hedge-priest,” said the Prior, in great 
wrath, excommunicaho vos.^^ 

“ Thou be’st thyself more like a thief and a heretic,” 
said the Friar, equally indignant; “ I will pouch up no 
such affront before my parishioners as thou thinkest it 
not shame to put upon me, although I be a reverend 
brother to thee. Ossa ejus perfringam, 1 will break 
your bones, as the Vulgate hath it.” 

“ Hola ! ” cried the captain, “ come the reverend 
brethren to such terms ? Keep thine assurance of peace. 
Friar. Prior, an thou hast not made thy peace perfect 
with God, provoke the Friar no further. Hermit, let the 
reverend father depart in peace, as a ransomed man.” 

The yeoman separated the incensed priests, who con- 
tinued to raise their voices, vituperating each other in 
bad Latin, which the Prior delivered the more fluently, 
and the hermit with the greater vehemence. The Prior 
at length recollected himself sufficiently to be aware 
that he was compromising his dignity by squabbling 


IVANHOE 


401 


with such a hedge-priest as the outlaw’s chaplain, and 
being joined by his attendants, rode off with consider- 
ably less pomp, and in a much more apostolical condi- 
tion, so far as worldly matters were concerned, than he 
had exhibited before this rencounter. 

It remained that the Jew should produce some secur- 
ity for the ransom which he was to pay on the Prior’s 
account, as well as upon his own. He gave, accord- 
ingly, an order sealed with his signet, to a brother of 
his tribe at York, requiring him to pay to the bearer 
the sum of a thousand crowns, and to dehver certain 
merchandises specified in the note. 

“ My brother Sheva,” he said, groaning deeply, 
“hath the key of my warehouses.” 

“And of the vaulted chamber,” whispered Locksley. 

“No, no — may Heaven forefend!” said Isaac; 
“ evil is the hour that let any one whomsoever into 
that secret ! ” 

“ It is safe with me,” said the outlaw, “ so be that this 
thy scroll produce the sum therein nominated and set 
down. But what now, Isaac.? art dead? art stupefied? 
hath the payment of a thousand crowns put thy daugh- 
ter’s peril out of thy mind?” 

The Jew started to his feet — “No, Diccon, no; I 
will presently set forth. Farewell, thou whom I may 
not call good, and dare not, and will not, call evil.” 

Yet, ere Isaac departed, the outlaw chief bestowed 
on him this parting advice : “ Be liberal of thine offers, 
Isaac, and spare not thy purse for thy daughter’s 
safety. Credit me, that the gold thou shalt spare in 
her cause will hereafter give thee as much agony as 
if it were poured molten down thy throat.” 

Isaac acquiesced with a deep groan, and set forth 
on his journey, accompanied by two tall foresters, who 
were to be his guides, and at the same time his guards, 
through the wood. 

The Black Knight, who had seen with no small 
26 


402 


IVANHOE 


interest these various proceedings, now took his leave 
of the outlaw in turn ; nor could he avoid expressing 
his surprise at having witnessed so much civil policy 
amongst persons cast out from all the ordinary pro- 
tection and influence of the laws. 

“Good fruit, Sir Knight,” said the yeoman, “will 
sometimes grow on a sorry tree ; and evil times are not 
always productive of evil alone and unmixed. Amongst 
those who are drawn into this lawless state, there are, 
doubtless, numbers who wish to exercise its license with 
some moderation, and some who regret, it may be, that 
they are obliged to follow such a trade at all.” 

“ And to one of those,” said the Knight, “ I am now, 
I presume, speaking. 

• “ Sir Knight,” said the outlaw, “ we have each our 
secret. You are welcome to form your judgment of 
me, and I may use my conjectures touching you, though 
neither of our shafts may hit the mark they are shot 
at. But as I do not pray to be admitted into your 
mystery, be not offended that I preserve my own.” 

“I crave pardon, brave outlaw,” said the Knight, 
“your reproof is just. But it may be we shall meet 
hereafter with less of concealment on either side. 
Meanwhile we part friends, do we not.f^” 

“ There is my hand upon it,” said Locksley ; “ and 
I will call it the hand of a true Englishman, though an 
outlaw for the present.” 

“ And there is mine in return,” said the Knight, “ and 
I hold it honoured by being clasped with yours. For 
he that does good, having the unlimited power to do 
evil, deserves praise not only for the good which he 
performs, but for the evil which he forbears. Fare 
thee well, gallant outlaw ! ” 

Thus parted that fair fellowship ; and he of the 
Fetterlock, mounting upon his strong war-horse, rode 
off through the forest. 


IVANHOE 


403 


CHAPTER XXXIV 

King John. I’ll tell thee what, my friend, 

He is a very serpent in my way; 

And whereso’er this foot of mine doth tread. 

He lies before me. Dost thou understand me ? 

King John. 

T here was brave feasting in the Castle of York, 
to which Prince John had invited those nobles, 
prelates, and leaders by whose assistance he 
hoped to carry through his ambitious projects upon 
his brother’s throne. Waldemar Fitzurse, his able and 
politic agent, was at secret work among them, temper- 
ing all to that pitch of courage which was necessary in 
making an open declaration of their purpose. But 
their enterprise was delayed by the absence of more 
than one main limb of the confederacy. The stubborn 
and daring, though brutal, courage of Eront-de-Boeuf ; 
the buoyant spirits and bold bearing of De Bracy ; the 
sagacity, martial experience, and renowned valour of 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, were important to the success 
of their conspiracy ; and, while cursing in secret their 
unnecessary and unmeaning absence, neither John nor 
his adviser dared to proceed without them. Isaac the 
Jew also seemed to have vanished, and with him the 
hope of certain sums of money, making up the subsidy 
for which Prince John had contracted with that Israel- 
ite and his brethren. This deficiency was likely to prove 
perilous in an emergency so critical. 

It was on the morning after the fall of Torquilstone, 
that a confused report began to spread abroad in the 
city of York that De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert, with 
their confederate Front-de-Boeuf, had been taken or 
slain. Waldemar brought the rumour to Prince John, 
announcing, that he feared its truth the more that they 
had set out with a small attendance, for the purpose of 


404 


IVANHOE 


committing an assault on the Saxon Cedric and his 
attendants. At another time the Prince would have 
treated this deed of violence as a good jest; but now 
that it interfered with and impeded his own plans, he 
exclaimed against the perpetrators, and spoke of the 
broken laws, and the infringement of public order and 
of private property, in a tone which might have be- 
come King Alfred. 

“ The unprincipled marauders ! ” he said ; “ were I 
ever to become monarch of England, I would hang 
such transgressors over the drawbridges of their own 
castles.” 

“ But to become monarch of England,” said his 
Ahithophel, coolly, “ it is necessary not only that your 
Grace should endure the transgressions of these un- 
principled marauders, but that you should afford them 
your protection, notwithstanding your laudable zeal 
for the laws they are in the habit of infringing. We 
shall be finely helped, if the churl Saxons should have 
realized your Grace’s vision of converting feudal draw- 
bridges into gibbets ; and yonder bold-spirited Cedric 
seemeth one to whom such an imagination might occur. 
Your Grace is well aware, it will be dangerous to stir 
without Front-de-Boeuf , De Bracy, and the Tem- 
plar; and yet we have gone too far to recede with 
safety.” 

Prince John struck his forehead with impatience, and 
then began to stride up and down the apartment. 

“ The villains,” he said — ‘‘ the base, treacherous 
villains, to desert me at this pinch ! ” 

“ Nay, say rather the feather-pated, giddy madmen,” 
said Waldemar, “who must be toying with follies when 
such business was in hand.” 

“What is to be done.?” said the Prince, stopping 
short before Waldemar. 

“ I know nothing which can be done,” answered his 
counsellor, “ save that which I have already taken order 


IVANHOE 


403 


for. I come not to bewail this evil chance with your 
Grace until I had done my best to remedy it.” 

“Thou art ever my better angel, Waldemar,” said 
the Prince ; “ and when I have such a chancellor to 
advise withal, the reign of John will be renowned in 
our annals. What hast thou commanded.^” 

“ I have ordered Louis Winkelbrand, De Bracy’s 
lieutenant, to cause his trumpet sound to horse, and to 
display his banner, and to set presently forth towards 
the castle of Front-de-Boeuf, to do what yet may be 
done for the succour of our friends.” 

Prince John’s face flushed with the pride of a spoilt 
child, who has undergone what it conceives to be an 
insult. 

“ By the face of God ! ” he said, “ Waldemar Fitzurse, 
much hast thou taken upon thee! and over malapert 
thou wert to cause trumpet to blow, or banner to be 
raised, in a town where ourselves were in presence, 
without our express command.” 

“ I crave your Grace’s pardon,” said Fitzurse, inter- 
nally cursing the idle vanity of his patron ; “ but when 
time pressed, and even the loss of minutes might be 
fatal, I judged it best to take this much burden upon 
me, in a matter of such importance to your Grace’s 
interest.” 

“ Thou art pardoned, Fitzurse,” said the Prince, 
gravely ; “ thy purpose hath atoned for thy hasty rash- 
ness. But whom have we here.f^ De Bracy himself, 
by the rood! and in strange guise doth he come be- 
fore us.” 

It was indeed De Bracy, “ bloody with spurring, fiery 
red with speed.” His armour bore all the marks of the 
late obstinate fray, being broken, defaced, and stained 
with blood in many places, and covered with clay and 
dust from the crest to the spur. Undoing his helmet, 
he placed it on the table, and stood a moment as if to 
collect himself before he told his news. 


406 


IVANHOE 


“De Bracy,” said Prince John, “what means this? 
Speak, I charge thee! Are the Saxons in rebellion?” 

“ Speak, De Bracy,” said Fitzurse, almost in the 
same moment with his master, “ thou wert wont to be a 
man. Where is the Templar ? where F ront-de-Boeuf ? ” 

“The Templar is fled,” said De Bracy ; “Front-de- 
Boeuf you will never see more. He has found a red 
grave among the blazing rafters of his own castle, and 
I alone am escaped to tell you.” 

“Cold news,” said Waldemar, “to us, though you 
speak of fire and conflagration.” 

“ The worst news is not yet said,” answered De 
Bracy ; and, coming up to Prince Jolm, he uttered in 
a low and emphatic tone — “ Richard is in England ; 
I have seen and spoken with him.” 

Prince John turned pale, tottered, and caught at 
the back of an oaken bench to support himself, much 
like to a man who receives an arrow in his bosom. 

“ Thou ravest, De Bracy,” said Fitzurse, “ it cannot 
be.” 

“ It is as true as truth itself,” said De Bracy ; “ I 
was his prisoner, and spoke with him.” 

“With Richard Plantagenet, sayest thou?” contin- 
ued Fitzurse. 

“With Richard Plantagenet,” replied De Bracy — 
“with Richard Coeur-de-Lion — with Richard of Eng- 
land.” 

“And thou wert his prisoner?” said Waldemar; 
“ he is then at the head of a power ? ” 

“ No ; only a few outlawed yeomen were around him, 
and to these his person is unknown. I heard him say 
he was about to depart from them. He joined them 
only to assist at the storming of Torquilstone.” 

“ Ay,” said Fitzurse, “ such is indeed the fashion of 
Richard — ^a true knight-errant he, and will wander in 
wild adventure, trusting the prowess of his single arm, 
like any Sir Guy or Sir Bevis, while the weighty affairs 


IVANHOE 


407 


of his kingdom slumber, and his own safety is endan- 
gered. What dost thou propose to do, De Bracy?” 

“ I offered Richard the service of my Free Lances, 
and he refused them. I will lead them to Hull, seize on 
shipping, and embark for Flanders ; thanks to the 
bustling times, a man of action will always find em- 
ployment. And thou, Waldemar, wilt thou take lance 
and shield, and lay down thy policies, and wend along 
with me, and share the fate which God sends us.?” 

“ I am too old, Maurice, and I have a daughter,” 
answered Waldemar. 

“ Give her to me, Fitzurse, and I will maintain her 
as fits her rank, with the help of lance and stirrup,” 
said De Bracy. 

“ Not so,” answered Fitzurse ; “ I will take sanctuary 
in this church of St. Peter ; the Archbishop is my 
sworn brother.” 

During this discourse. Prince John had gradually 
awakened from the stupor into which he had been 
thrown by the unexpected intelligence, and had been 
attentive to the conversation which passed betwixt his 
followers. “They fall off from me,” he said to him- 
self : “ they hold no more by me than a withered leaf by 
the bough when a breeze blows on it ! Hell and fiends ! 
can I shape no means for myself when I am deserted 
by these cravens ? ” He paused, and there was an 
expression of diabolical passion in the constrained 
laugh with which he at length broke in on their 
conversation. 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! my good lords, by the light of Our 
Lady’s brow, I held ye sage men, bold men, ready- 
witted men ; yet ye throw down wealth, honour, pleas- 
ure, all that our noble game promised you, at the 
moment it might be won by one. bold cast!” 

“ I understand you not,” said De Bracy. “ As soon 
as Richard’s return is blown abroad, he will be at the 
head of an army, and all is then over with us. I would 


408 


IVANHOE 


counsel you, my lord, either to fly to France or take 
the protection of the Queen Mother.” 

‘‘ I seek no safety for myself,” said Prince John, 
haughtily; “that I could secure by a word spoken to 
my brother. But although you, De Bracy, and you, 
Waldemar Fitzurse, are so ready to abandon me, I 
should not greatly delight to see your heads blacken- 
ing on Clifford’s gate yonder. Thinkest thou, Walde- 
mar, that the wily Archbishop will not suffer thee to 
be taken from the very horns of the altar, would it 
make his peace with King Richard.'^ And forgettest 
thou, De Bracy, that Robert Estoteville lies betwixt 
thee and Hull with all his forces, and that the Earl of 
Essex is gathering his followers.^ If we had reason to 
fear these levies even before Richard’s return, trowest 
thou there is any doubt now which party their leaders 
will take.? Trust me, Estoteville alone has strength 
enough to drive all thy Free Lances into the Humber.” 
Waldemar Fitzurse and De Bracy looked in each other’s 
faces with blank dismay. “ There is but one road to 
safety,” continued the Prince, and his brow grew black 
as midnight: “this object of our terror journeys alone; 
he must be met withal.” 

“Not by me,” said De Bracy, hastily; “I was his 
prisoner, and he took me to mercy. I will not harm a 
feather in his crest.” 

“Who spoke of harming him?” said Prince John, 
with a hardened laugh ; “ the knave will say next that 
I meant he should slay him! No — a prison were 
better; and whether in Britain or Austria, what mat- 
ters it? Things will be but as they were when we 
commenced our enterprise. It was founded on the hope 
that Richard would remain a captive in Germany. Our 
uncle Robert lived and died in the castle of Cardiff.” 

“ Ay, but,” said Waldemar, “ your sire Henry sat 
more firm in his seat than your Grace can. I say 
the best prison is that which is made by the sexton: 


IVANHOE 


409 


no dungeon like a church-vault ! I have said my 
say.” 

“ Prison or tomb,” said De Bracy, “ I wash my hands 
of the whole matter.” 

“ Villain ! ” said Prince John, thou wouldst not 
bewray our counsel ? ” 

“ Counsel was never bewrayed by me,” said De Bracy, 
haughtily, “nor must the name of villain be coupled 
with mine!” 

“Peace, Sir Knight!” said Waldemar; “and you, 
good my lord, forgive the scruples of valiant De Bracy ; 
I trust I shall soon remove them.” 

“ That passes your eloquence, Fitzurse,” replied the 
knight. 

“Why, good Sir Maurice,” rejoined the wily poli- 
tician, “ start not aside like a scared steed, without, at 
least, considering the object of your terror. This 
Richard — but a day since, and it would have been thy 
dearest wish to have met him hand to hand in the 
ranks of battle; a hundred times I have heard thee 
wish it.” 

“ Ay,” said De Bracy, “ but that was, as thou sayest, 
hand to hand, and in the ranks of battle ! Thou never 
heardest me breathe a thought of assaulting him alone, 
and in a forest.” 

“ Thou art no good knight if thou dost scruple at 
it,” said Waldemar. “Was it in battle that Lancelot 
de Lac and Sir Tristram won renown.'^ or was it not 
by encountering gigantic knights under the shade of 
deep and unknown forests ? ” 

“Ay, but I promise you,” said De Bracy, “that 
neither Tristram nor Lancelot would have been match, 
hand to hand, for Richard Plantagenet, and I think 
it was not their wont to take odds against a single 
man.” 

“ Thou art mad, De Bracy : what is it we propose to 
thee, a hired and retained captain of Free Companions, 


410 


IVANHOE 


whose swords are purchased for Prince John’s ser-t 
vice? Thou art apprised of our enemy, and then thoi^- 
scruplest, though thy patron’s fortunes, those of thyt 
comrades, thine own, and the life and honour of every 
one amongst us, are at stake ! ” 

“ I tell you,” said De Bracy, sullenly, “ that he gave >1 
me my life. True, he sent me from his presence, and 1 
refused my homage, so far I owe him neither favour t 
nor allegiance; but I will not lift hand against him.” 

“ It needs not ; send Louis Winkelbrand and a score ' 
of thy lances.” 

“Ye have sufficient ruffians of your own,” said De 
Bracy ; “ not one of mine shall budge on such an 
errand.” 

“Art thou so obstinate, De Bracy?” said Prince 
John ; “ and wilt thou forsake me, after so many pro- 
testations of zeal for my service?” 

“ I mean it not,” said De Bracy ; “ I will abide by 
you in aught that becomes a knight, whether in the 
lists or in the camp ; but this highway practice comes 
not within my vow.” 

“Come hither, Waldemar,” said Prince John. “An 
unhappy prince am I. My father. King Henry, had 
faithful servants. He had but to say that he was 
plagued with a factious priest, and the blood of 
Thomas-a-Becket, saint though he was, stained the 
steps of his own altar. Tracy, Morville, Brito, loyal 
and daring subjects, your names, your spirit, are ex- 
tinct! and although Reginald Fitzurse hath left a 
son, he has fallen off from his father’s fidelity and 
courage.” 

“He has fallen off from neither,” said Waldemar 
Fitzurse ; “ and since it may not better be, I will take 
on me the conduct of this perilous enterprise. Dearly, 
however, did my father purchase the praise of a zeal- 
ous friend ; and yet did his proof of loyalty to Henry 
fall far short of what I am about to afford ; for rather 


IVANHOE 


411 


y f uld I assail a whole calendar of saints than put 
V iar in rest against Coeur-de-Lion. De Bracy, to thee 
i .nust trust to keep up the spirits of the doubtful, and 
' 3 guard Prince John’s person. If you receive such 
lews as I trust to send you, our enterprise will no 
onger wear a doubtful aspect. Page,” he said, “ hie 
CO my lodgings, and tell my armourer to be there in 
readiness ; and bid Stephen Wetheral, Broad Thoresby, 
and the Three Spears of Spyinghow come to me in- 
stantly ; and let the scout-master, Hugh Bardon, at- 
tend me also. Adieu, my Prince, till better times.” 
Thus speaking, he left the apartment. 

“ He goes to make my brother prisoner,” said Prince 
John to De Bracy, “with as little touch of compunc- 
tion as if it but concerned the liberty of a Saxon frank- 
lin. I trust he will observe our orders, and use our 
dear Richard’s person with all due respect.” 

De Bracy only answered by a smile. 

“ By the light of Our Lady’s brow,” said Prince 
John, “ our orders to him were most precise, though it 
may be you heard them not, as we stood together in 
the oriel window. Most clear and positive was our 
charge that Richard’s safety should be cared for, and 
woe to Waldemar’s head if he transgress it!” 

“ I had better pass to his lodgings,” said De Bracy, 
“ and make him fully aware of your Grace’s pleasure ; 
for, as it quite escaped my ear, it may not perchance 
have reached that of Waldemar.” 

“Nay, nay,” said Prince John, impatiently, “I 
promise thee he heard me ; and, besides, I have further 
occupation for thee. Maurice, come hither; let me 
lean on thy shoulder.” 

They walked a turn through the hall in this familiar 
posture, and Prince John, with an air of the most con- 
fidential intimacy, proceeded to say, “What thinkest 
thou of this Waldemar Fitzurse, my De Bracy? He 
rusts to be our Chancellor. Surely we will pause ere 


412 


IVANHOE 


,/ 

we give an office so high to one who shows evidently/ 
how little he reverences our blood, by his so readily'- 
undertaking this enterprise against Richard. Thou 
dost think, I warrant, that thou hast lost somewhat of 
our regard by thy boldly declining this unpleasing 
task. But no, Maurice ! I rather honour thee for thy 
virtuous constancy. There are things most necessary 
to be done, the perpetrator of which we neither love nor 
honour; and there may be refusals to serve us which 
shall rather exalt in our estimation those who deny our 
request. The arrest of my unfortunate brother forms 
no such good title to the high office of Chancellor as thy 
chivalrous and courageous denial establishes in thee to 
the truncheon of High Marshal. Think of this, De 
Bracy, and begone to thy charge.” 

“ Fickle tyrant ! ” muttered De Bracy, as he left the 
presence of the Prince ; “ evil luck have they who trust 
thee. Thy Chancellor, indeed ! He who hath the keep- 
ing of thy conscience shall have an easy charge, I trow. 
But High Marshal of England ! that,” he said, extend- 
ing his arm, as if to grasp the baton of office, and as- 
suming a loftier stride along the ante-chamber — “ that 
is indeed a prize worth playing for ! ” 

De Bracy had no sooner left the apartment than 
Prince John summoned an attendant. 

“ Bid Hugh Bardon, our scout-master, come hither, 
as soon as he shall have spoken with Waldemar Fitz- 
urse.” 

The scout-master arrived after a brief delay, during 
which John traversed the apartment with unequal and 
disordered steps. 

“Bardon,” said he, “what did Waldemar desire of 
thee ? ” 

“ Two resolute men, well acquainted with these north- 
ern wilds, and skilful in tracking the tread of man and 
horse.” 

“And thou hast fitted him.?” 


IVANHOE 


413 


“ Let your Grace never trust me else,” answered the 
master of the spies. “ One is from Hexhamshire ; he 
is wont to trace the Tynedale and Teviotdale thieves, 
as a bloodhound follows the slot of a hurt deer. The 
other is Yorkshire bred, and has twanged his bowstring 
right oft in merry Sherwood; he knows each glade 
and dingle, copse and high-wood, betwixt this and 
Richmond.” 

“ ’T is well,” said the Prince. “ Goes Waldemar forth 
with them ? ” 

“ Instantly,” said Bardon. 

“With what attendance.?” asked John, carelessly. 

“ Broad Thoresby goes with him, and Wether al, 
whom they call, for his cruelty, Stephen Steel-Heart ; 
and three northern men-at-arms that belonged to Ralph 
Middleton’s gang ; they are called the Spears of 
Spyinghow.” 

“’Tis well,” said Prince John; then added, after a 
moment’s pause, “ Bardon, it imports our service that 
thou keep a strict watch on Maurice de Bracy, so that 
he shall not observe it, however. And let us know of 
his motions from time to time, with whom he converses, 
what he proposeth. Fail not in this, as thou wilt be 
answerable.” 

Hugh Bardon bowed, and retired. 

“If Maurice betrays me,” said Prince John — “if 
he betrays me, as his bearing leads me to fear, I will 
have his head, were Richard thundering at the gates 
of York.” 


414 


IVANHOE 


CHAPTER XXXV 

Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts. 

Strive with the half-starved lion for his prey; 

Lesser the risk, than rouse the slumbering fire 
Of wild fanaticism. 

Anonymous. 

O UR tale now returns to Isaac of York. Mounted 
upon a mule, the gift of the outlaw, with two 
tall yeomen to act as his guard and guides, 
the Jew had set out for the preceptory of Templestowe, 
for the purpose of negotiating his daughter’s redemp- 
tion. The preceptory was but a day’s journey from 
the demolished castle of Torquilstone, and the Jew had 
hoped to reach it before nightfall; accordingly, hav- 
ing dismissed his guides at the verge of the forest, and 
rewarded them with a piece of silver, he began to press 
on with such speed as his weariness permitted him to 
exert. But his strength failed him totally ere he had 
reached within four miles of the Temple court; rack- 
ing pains shot along his back and through his limbs, 
and the excessive anguish which he felt at heart being 
now augmented by bodily suffering, he was rendered 
altogether incapable of proceeding farther than a small 
market-town, where dwelt a Jewish rabbi of his tribe, 
eminent in the medical profession, and to whom Isaac 
was well known. Nathan ben Israel received his suf- 
fering countryman with that kindness which the law 
prescribed, and which the Jews practised to each 
other. He insisted on his betaking himself to repose, 
and used such remedies as were then in most repute to 
check the progress of the fever which terror, fatigue, 
ill-usage, and sorrow had brought upon the poor old 
Jew. 

On the morrow, when Isaac proposed to arise and 
pursue his journey, Nathan remonstrated against his 


IVANHOE 


415 


purpose^ both as his host and as his physician. “ It 
might cost him,” he said, “his life.” But Isaac re- 
plied, “ That more than life and death depended upon 
his going that morning to Templestowe.” 

“To Templestowe!” said his host with surprise; 
again felt his pulse, and then muttered to himself, 
“ His fever is abated, yet seems his mind somewhat 
alienated and disturbed.” 

“ And why not to Templestowe ? ” answered his pa- 
tient. “I grant thee, Nathan, that it is a dwelling of 
those to whom the despised Children of the Promise are 
a stumbling-block and an abomination ; yet thou know- 
est that pressing affairs of traffic sometimes carry us 
among these bloodthirsty Nazarene soldiers, and that 
we visit the preceptories of the Templars, as well as the 
commanderies of the Knights Hospitallers, as they are 
called.” 

“I know it well,” said Nathan; “but wottest thou 
that Lucas de Beaumanoir, the chief of their order, and 
whom they term Grand Master, is now himself at 
Templestowe.? ” 

“ I know it not,” said Isaac ; “ our last letters from 
our brethren at Paris advised us that he was at that 
city, beseeching Philip for aid against the Sultan 
Saladine.” 

“ He hath since come to England, unexpected 
by his brethren,” said Ben Israel ; “ and he cometh 
among them with a strong and outstretched arm to 
correct and to punish. His countenance is kindled 
in anger against those who have departed from the 
vow which they have made, and great is the fear of 
those sons of Belial. Thou must have heard of his 
name ? ” 

“ It is well known unto me,” said Isaac : “ the Gen- 
tiles deliver this Lucas Beaumanoir as a man zealous 
to slaying for every point of the Nazarene law; and 
our brethren have termed him a fierce destroyer of the 


416 IVANHOE 

Saracens, and a cruel tyrant to the Children of the ' 
Promise.” 

“And truly have they termed him,” said Nathan the 
physician. “Other Templars may be moved from the 
purpose of their heart by pleasure, or bribed by prom- 
ise of gold and silver; but Beaumanoir is of a differ- 
ent stamp — hating sensuality, despising treasure, and 
pressing forward to that which they call the crown of 
martyrdom — the God of Jacob speedily send it unto 
him, and unto them all ! Specially hath this proud man 
extended his glove over the children of Judah, as holy 
David over Edom, holding the murder of a Jew to be 
an offering of as sweet savour as the death of a Sara- 
cen. Impious and false things has he said even of the 
virtues of our medicines, as if they were the devices of 
Satan — the Lord rebuke him ! ” 

“ Nevertheless,” said Isaac, “ I must present myself 
at Templestowe, though he hath made his face like i 
unto a fiery furnace seven times heated.” 

He then explained to Nathan the pressing cause of 
his journey. The Rabbi listened with interest, and tes- | 
tified his sympathy after the fashion of his people, 
rending his clothes, and saying, “Ah, my daughter! 
— ah, my daughter I Alas 1 for the beauty of Zion ! 
Alas! for the captivity of Israel!” 

“ Thou seest,” said Isaac, “ how it stands with me, 
and that I may not tarry. Peradventure, the presence 
of this Lucas Beaumanoir, being the chief man over 
them, may turn Brian de Bois-Guilbert from the ill 
which he doth meditate, and that he may deliver to me 
my beloved daughter Rebecca.” 

“Go thou,” said Nathan ben Israel, “and be wise, 
for wisdom availed Daniel in the den of lions into which 
he was cast ; and may it go well with thee, even as 
thine heart wisheth. Yet, if thou canst, keep thee from 
the presence of the Grand Master, for to do foul scorn 
to our people is his morning and evening 'delight. It 


IVANHOE 


417 


may be, If thou couldst speak with Bois-Guilbert in 
private, thou shalt the better prevail with liim ; for men 
say that these accursed Nazarenes are not of one mind 
in the preceptory — may their counsels be confounded 
and brought to shame! But do thou, brother, return 
to me as if it were to the house of thy father, and bring 
me word how it has sped with thee ; and well do I hope 
thou wilt bring with thee Rebecca, even the scholar of 
the wise Miriam, whose cures the Gentiles slandered as 
if they had been wrought by necromancy.” 

Isaac accordingly bade his friend farewell, and about 
an hour’s riding brought him before the preceptory of 
Templestowe. 

This establishment of the Templars was seated amidst 
fair meadows and pastures, which the devotion of the 
former preceptor had bestowed upon their order. It 
was strong and well fortified, a point never neglected 
by these knights, and which the disordered state of 
England rendered peculiarly necessary. Two halber- 
diers, clad in black, guarded the drawbridge, and others, 
in the same sad livery, glided to and fro upon the wall 
with a funeral pace, resembling spectres more than 
soldiers. The inferior officers of the order were thus 
dressed, ever since their use of white garments, similar 
to those of the knights and esquires, had given rise to 
a combination of certain false brethren in the moun- 
tains of Palestine, terming themselves Templars, and 
bringing great dishonour on the order. A knight was 
now and then seen to cross the court in his long white 
cloak, his head depressed on his breast, and his arms 
folded. They passed each other, if they chanced to 
meet, with a slow, solemn, and mute greeting ; for such 
was the rule of their order, quoting thereupon the holy 
texts, “In many words thou shalt not avoid sin,” and 
“ Life and death are in the power of the tongue.” In 
a word, the stern, ascetic rigour of the Temple disci- 
pline, which had been so long exchanged for prodigal 


418 


IVANHOE 


and licentious indulgence, seemed at once to have re- 
vived at Templestowe under the severe eye of Lucas 
Beaumanoir. 

Isaac paused at the gate, to consider how he might 
seek entrance in the manner most likely to bespeak 
favour ; for he was well aware that to his unhappy 
race the reviving fanaticism of the order was not less 
dangerous than their unprincipled licentiousness ; and 
that his religion would be the object of hate and perse- 
cution in the one case, as his wealth would have ex- 
posed him in the other to the extortions of unrelenting 
oppression. 

Meantime, Lucas Beaumanoir walked in a small 
garden belonging to the preceptory, included within 
the precincts of its exterior fortification, and held sad 
and confidential communication with a brother of his 
order, who had come in his company from Palestine. 

The Grand Master was a man advanced in age, as 
was testified by his long gray beard, and the shaggy 
gray eyebrows, overhanging eyes of which, however, 
years had been unable to quench the fire. A formidable 
warrior, his thin and severe features retained the sol- 
dier’s fierceness of expression; an ascetic bigot, they 
were no less marked by the emaciation of abstinence, 
and the spiritual pride of the self-satisfied devotee. Yet 
with these severer traits of physiognomy, there was 
mixed somewhat striking and noble, arising, doubtless, 
from the great part which his high office called upon 
him to act among monarchs and princes, and from the 
habitual exercise of supreme authority over the valiant 
and high-born knights who were united by the rules of 
the order. His stature was tall, and his gait, unde- 
pressed by age and toil, was erect and stately. His 
white mantle was shaped with severe regularity, accord- 
ing to the rule of St. Bernard himself, being composed 
of what was then called burrel cloth, exactly fitted to 


IVANHOE 


419 


the size of the wearer, and bearing on the left shoulder 
the octangular cross peculiar to the order, formed of 
red cloth. No vair or ermine decked this garment ; but 
in respect of his age, the Grand Master, as permitted 
by the rules, wore his doublet lined and trimmed with 
the softest lambskin, dressed with the wool outwards, 
which was the nearest approach he could regularly 
make to the use of fur, then the greatest luxury of 
dress. In his hand he bore that singular abacus, or 
staff of office, with which Templars are usually repre- 
sented, having at the upper end a round plate, on which 
was engraved the cross of the order, inscribed within 
a circle or orle, as heralds term it. His companion, who 
attended on this great personage, had nearly the same 
dress in all respects, but his extreme deference towards 
his superior showed that no other equality subsisted 
between them. The preceptor, for such he was in rank, 
walked not in a line with the Grand Master, but just 
so far behind that Beaumanoir could speak to him with- 
out turning round his head. 

“ Conrade,” said the Grand Master, “ dear compan- 
ion of my battles and my toils, to thy faithful bosom 
alone I can confide my sorrows. To thee alone can I 
tell how oft, since I came to this kingdom, I have de- 
sired to be dissolved and to be with the just. Not one 
object in England hath met mine eye which it could 
rest upon with pleasure, save the tombs of our brethren, 
beneath the massive roof of our Temple Church in 
yonder proud capital. ‘ O, valiant Robert de Ros ! ’ 
did I exclaim internally, as I gazed upon these good 
soldiers of the cross, where they lie sculptured on their 
sepulchres — ‘ O, worthy William de Mareschal! open 
your marble cells, and take to your repose a weary 
brother, who would rather strive with a hundred thou- 
sand pagans than witness the decay of our holy 
order ! ’ ” 

“It is but true,” answered Conrade Mont-Fitchet 


420 


IVANHOE 


— “ it is but too true ; and the irregularities of our 
brethren in England are even more gross than those 
in France.” 

“ Because they are more wealthy,” answered the 
Grand Master. “ Bear with me, brother, although I 
should something vaunt myself. Thou knowest the life 
I have led, keeping each point of my order, striving 
with devils embodied and disembodied, striking down the 
roaring lion, who goeth about seeking whom he may 
devour, like a good knight and devout priest, whereso- 
ever I met with him, even as blessed St. Bernard hath 
prescribed to us in the forty-fifth capital of our rule, 
Ut leo semper feriatur. But, by the Holy Temple! 
the zeal which hath devoured my substance and my life, 
yea, the very nerves and marrow of my bones — by that 
very Holy Temple I swear to thee, that save thyself 
and some few that still retain the ancient severity of 
our order, I look upon no brethren whom I can bring 
my soul to embrace under that holy name. What say 
our statutes, and how do our brethren observe them.^ 
They should wear no vain or worldly ornament, no 
crest upon their helmet, no gold upon stirrup or bridle- 
bit ; yet who now go pranked out so proudly and so 
gaily as the poor soldiers of the Temple They are 
forbidden by our statutes to take one bird by means 
of another, to shoot beasts with bow or arblast, to 
halloo to a hunting-horn, or to spur the horse after 
game; but now, at hunting and hawking, and each 
idle sport of wood and river, who so prompt as the 
Templars in all these fond vanities.? They are for- 
bidden to read, save what their superior permitted, or 
listen to what is read, save such holy things as may be 
recited aloud during the hours of refection; but lo! 
their ears are at the command of idle minstrels, and 
their eyes study empty romaunts. They were com- 
manded to extirpate magic and heresy; lo! they are 
charged with studying the accursed cabalistical secrets 


IVANHOE 


421 


of the Jews, and the magic of the paynim Saracens. 
Simpleness of diet was prescribed to them — roots, pot- 
tage, gruels, eating flesh but thrice a-week, because 
the accustomed feeding on flesh is a dishonourable cor- 
ruption of the body; and behold, their tables groan 
under delicate fare. Their drink was to be water ; and 
now, to drink like a Templar is the boast of each jolly 
boon companion. This very garden, filled as it is with 
curious herbs and trees sent from the Eastern climes, 
better becomes the harem of an unbelieving emir than 
the plot which Christian monks should devote to raise 
their homely pot-herbs. And O, Conrade ! well it were 
that the relaxation of discipline stopped even here ! 
Well thou knowest that we were forbidden to receive those 
devout women who at the beginning were associated as 
sisters of our order, because, saith the forty-sixth chap- 
ter, the Ancient Enemy hath, by female society, with- 
drawn many from the right path to paradise. Nay, 
in the last capital, being, as it were, the copestone 
which our blessed founder placed on the pure and unde- 
filed doctrine which he had enjoined, we are prohibited 
from offering, even to our sisters and our mothers, the 
kiss of affection : ut omnium mulierum fugiantur oscula. 
I shame to speak — I shame to think — of the corrup- 
tions which have rushed in upon us even like a flood. 
The souls of our pure founders, the spirits of Hugh de 
Payen and Godfrey de St. Omer, and of the blessed 
seven who first joined in dedicating their lives to the 
service of the Temple, are disturbed even in the enjoy- 
ment of paradise itself. I have seen them, Conrade, in 
the visions of the night: their sainted eyes shed tears 
for the sins and follies of their brethren, and for the 
foul and shameful luxury in which they wallow. ‘ Beau- 
manoir,’ they say, ‘ thou slumberest ; awake ! There is 
a stain in the fabric of the Temple, deep and foul as 
that left by the streaks of leprosy on the walls of the 
infected houses of old. The soldiers of the Cross, who 


422 


IVANHOE 


should shun the glance of a woman as the eye of a basil- 
isk, live in open sin, not with the females of their own race 
only, but with the daughters of the accursed heathen, 
and more accursed Jew. Beaumanoir, thou sleepest ; 
up, and avenge our cause ! Slay the sinners, male and 
female! Take to thee the brand of Phineas ! ’ The 
vision fled, Conrade, but as I awaked I could still hear 
the clank of their mail, and see the waving of their white 
mantles. And I will do according to their word: I 
WILL purify the fabric of the Temple; and the unclean 
stones in which the plague is, I will remove and cast out 
of the building.” 

“Yet bethink thee, reverend father,” said Mont- 
Fitchet, “ the stain hath become engrained by time and 
consuetude; let thy reformation be cautious, as it is 
just and wise.” 

“ No, Mont-Fitchet,” answered the stern old man, “ it 
must be sharp and sudden ; the order is on the crisis of 
its fate. The sobriety, self-devotion, and piety of our 
predecessors made us powerful friends ; our presump- 
tion, our wealth, our luxury have raised up against us 
mighty enemies. We must cast away these riches, which 
are a temptation to princes ; we must lay down that 
presumption, which is an offence to them ; we must re- 
form that license of manners, which is a scandal to the 
whole Christian world! Or — mark my words — the 
order of the Temple will be utterly demolished, and 
the place thereof shall no more be known among the 
nations.” 

“Now may God avert such a calamity!” said the 
preceptor. 

“Amen,” said the Grand Master, with solemnity, 
“but we must deserve His aid. I tell thee, Conrade, 
that neither the powers in Heaven, nor the powers on 
earth, will longer endure the wickedness of this genera- 
tion. My intelligence is sure — the ground on which 
our fabric is reared is already undermined, and each 


IVANHOE 


423 


addition we make to the structure of our greatness 
will only sink it the sooner in the abyss. We must 
retrace our steps, and show ourselves the faithful 
champions of the Cross, sacrificing to our calling not 
alone our blood and our lives, not alone our lusts and 
our vices, but our ease, our comforts, and our natural 
affections, and act as men convinced that many a pleas- 
ure which may be lawful to others is forbidden to the 
vowed soldier of the Temple.” 

At this moment a squire, clothed in a threadbare 
vestment — for the aspirants after this holy order wore 
during their novitiate the cast-off garments of the 
knights — entered the garden, and, bowing profoundly 
before the Grand Master, stood silent, awaiting his per- 
mission ere he presumed to tell his errand. 

“ Is it not more seemly,” said the Grand Master, ‘‘ to 
see this Damian, clothed in the garments of Christian 
humility, thus appear with reverend silence before his 
superior, than but two days since, when the fond fool 
was decked in a painted coat, and jangling as pert and 
as proud as any popinjay.'^ Speak, Damian, we per- 
mit thee. What is thine errand ” 

“ A elew stands without the gate,, noble and reverend 
father,” said the squire, ‘‘who prays to speak with 
brother Brian de Bois-Guilbert.” 

“ Thou wert right to give me knowledge of it,” said 
the Grand Master ; “ in our presence a preceptor is but 
as a common compeer of our order, who may not walk 
according to his own will, but to that of his Master, 
even according to the text, ‘ In the hearing of the ear 
he hath obeyed me.’ It imports us especially to know 
of this Bois-Guilbert’s proceedings,” said he, turning 
to his companion. 

“ Report speaks him brave and valiant,” said 
Conrade. 

“And truly is he so spoken of,” said the Grand 
Master; “in our valour only we are not degenerated 


424 


IVANHOE 


from our predecessors, the heroes of the Cross. But 
brother Brian came into our order a moody and disap- 
pointed man, stirred, I doubt me, to take our vows and 
to renounce the world, not in sincerity of soul, but as 
one whom some touch of light discontent had driven into 
penitence. Since then he hath become an active and 
earnest agitator, a murmurer, and a machinator, and a 
leader amongst those who impugn our authority ; not 
considering that the rule is given to the Master even 
by the symbol of the staff and the rod — the staff to 
support the infirmities of the weak, the rod to correct 
the faults of delinquents. Damian,” he continued, lead 
the Jew to our presence.” 

The squire departed with a profound reverence, and 
in a few minutes returned, marshalling in Isaac of 
York. No naked slave, ushered into the presence of 
some mighty prince, could approach his judgment-seat 
with more profound reverence and terror than that with 
which the Jew drew near to the presence of the Grand 
Master. When he had approached within the distance 
of three yards, Beaumanoir made a sign with his staff 
that he should come no farther. The Jew kneeled down 
on the earth, which he kissed in token of reverence ; then 
rising, stood before the Templars, his hands folded on 
his bosom, his head bowed on his breast, in all the sub- 
mission of Oriental slavery. 

“ Damian,” said the Grand Master, “ retire, and have 
a guard ready to await our sudden call ; and suffer no 
one to enter the garden until we shall leave it.” The 
squire bowed and retreated. “Jew,” continued the 
haughty old man, “mark me. It suits not our condi- 
tion to hold with thee long communication, nor do we 
waste words or time upon any one. Wherefore be brief 
in thy answers to what questions I shall ask thee, and 
let thy words be of truth; for if thy tongue doubles 
with me, I will have it tom from thy misbelieving 
jaws.” 


IVANHOE 425 

The Jew was about to reply; but the Grand Master 
went on — 

“ Peace, unbeliever! not a word in our presence, save 
in answer to our questions. What is thy business with 
our brother Brian de Bois-Guilbert ? ” 

Isaac gasped with terror and uncertainty. To tell 
his tale might be interpreted into scandalizing the 
order ; yet, unless he told it, what hope could he have of 
achieving his daughter’s deliverance? Beaumanoir saw 
his mortal apprehension, and condescended to give him 
some assurance. 

“Fear nothing,” he said, “for thy wretched person, 
Jew, so thou dealest uprightly in this matter. I de- 
mand again to know from thee thy business with Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert ? ” 

“I am bearer of a letter,” stammered out the Jew, 
“ so please your reverend valour, to that good knight, 
from Prior Aymer of the Abbey of Jorvaulx.” 

“ Said I not these were evil times, Conrade? ” said the 
Master. “ A Cistercian prior sends a letter to a soldier 
of the Temple, and can find no more fitting messenger 
than an unbelieving Jew. Give me the letter.” 

The Jew, with trembling hands, undid the folds of 
his Armenian cap, in which he had deposited the Prior’s 
tablets for the greater security, and was about to ap- 
proach, with hand extended and body crouched, to place 
it within the reach of his grim interrogator. 

“ Back, dog ! ” said the Grand Master ; “ I touch not 
misbelievers, save with the sword. Conrade, take thou 
the letter from the Jew and give it to me.” 

Beaumanoir, being thus possessed of the tablets, in- 
spected the outside carefully, and then proceeded to 
undo the packthread which secured its folds. “Rever- 
end father,” said Conrade, interposing, though with 
much deference, “wilt thou break the seal?” 

“And will I not?” said Beaumanoir, with a frown. 
“ Is it not written in the forty-second capital, De 


426 


IVANHOE 


Lectione Literarum, that a Templar shall not receive a 
letter, no not from his father, without communicating 
the same to the Grand Master, and reading it in his 
presence?” 

He then perused the letter in haste, with an expres- 
sion of surprise and horror; read it over again more 
slowly ; then holding it out to Conrade with one hand, 
and slightly striking it with the other, exclaimed — 
“ Here is goodly stuff for one Christian man to write 
to another, and both members, and no inconsiderable 
members, of religious professions ! When,” said he 
solemnly, and looking upward, “wilt Thou come with 
Thy fanners to purge the thrashing-floor? ” 

Mont-Fitchet took the letter from his superior, and 
was about to peruse it. “Read it aloud, Conrade,” 
said the Grand Master; “and do thou (to Isaac) at- 
tend to the purport of it, for we will question thee con- 
cerning it.” 

Conrade read the letter, which was in these words : 

A)m[ier, by divine grace, prior of the Cistercian liouse of 
St. Mary’s of Jorvaulx, to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, a 
knight of the holy order of the Temple, wisheth health, 
with the bounties of King Bacchus and of my Lady Venus. 
Touching our present condition, dear brother, we are a cap- 
tive in the hands of certain lawless and godless men, who 
have not feared to detain our person, and put us to ransom ; 
whereby we have also learned of Front-de-Bceuf’s misfor- 
tune, and that thou hast escaped with that fair Jewish sor- 
ceress whose black eyes have bewitched thee. We are 
heartily rejoiced of thy safety ; nevertheless, we pray thee 
to be on thy guard in the matter of this second Witch of 
Endor ; for we are privately assured that your Great Master, 
who careth not a bean for cheny cheeks and black eyes, 
comes from Normandy to diminish your mirth and amend 
your misdoings. Wherefore we pray you heartily to beware, 
and to be found watching, even as the Holy Text hath it, 
Invenieniur vigilantes. And the wealthy Jew her father, 
Isaac of York, having prayed of me letters in his behalf, I 


ivanhop: 


427 


gave him these, earnestly advising, and in a sort entreating, 
that you do hold the damsel to ransom, seeing he will pay 
you from his bags as much as may find fifty damsels upon 
safer terms, whereof I trust to have my part when we make 
merry together, as true brothers, not forgetting the wine- 
cup. For what saith the text, Vinum Icetijicat cor hominis ; 
and again, Rex delectabitur pulchritudine tua. 

Till which merry meeting, w'e wish you farewell. Given 
from this den of thieves, about the hour of matins, 

Aymer Pr. S. M. Jorvolciencis. 

Postscriptum. — Truly your golden chain hath not long 
abidden with me, and will now sustain, around the neck of 
an outlaw deer-stealer, the whistle wherewith he calleth on 
his hounds. 

‘‘What sayest thou to this, Conrade.?” said the 
Grand Master. “ Den of thieves ! and a fit residence is 
a den of thieves for such a prior. No wonder that the 
hand of God is upon us, and that in the Holy Land 
we lose place by place, foot by foot, before the infidels, 
when we have such churchmen as this Aymer. And 
what meaneth he, I trow, by ‘ this second Witch of 
Endor ’ ? ” said he to his confidant, something apart. 

Conrade was better acquainted, perhaps by practice, 
with the jargon of gallantry than was his superior; 
and he expounded the passage which embarrassed the 
Grand Master to be a sort of language used by 
worldly men towards those whom they loved par 
amours; but the explanation did not satisfy the big- 
oted Beaumanoir. 

“ There is more in it than thou dost guess, Con- 
rade ; thy simplicity is no match for this deep abyss of 
wickedness. This Rebecca of York was a pupil of that 
Miriam of whom thou hast heard. Thou shalt hear 
the Jew own it even now.” Then turning to Isaac, he 
said aloud, “ Thy daughter, then, is prisoner with Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert ” 


428 


IVANHOE 


“Ay, reverend valorous sir,” stammered poor Isaac, 
“ and whatsoever ransom a poor man may pay for her 
deliverance — ” 

“ Peace ! ” said the Grand Master. “ This thy 
daughter hath practised the art of healing, hath she 
not.^^ ” 

“Ay, gracious sir,” answered the Jew, with more 
confidence ; “ and knight and yeoman, squire and vas- 
sal, may bless the goodly gift which Heaven hath as- 
signed to her. Many a one can testify that she hath 
recovered them by her art, when every other human 
aid hath proved vain ; but the blessing of the God of 
Jacob was upon her.” 

Beaumanoir turned to Mont-Fitchet with a grim 
smile. “ See, brother,” he said, “ the deceptions of the 
devouring Enemy ! Behold the baits with which he 
fishes for souls, giving a poor space of earthly life in 
exchange for eternal happiness hereafter. Well said our 
blessed rule. Semper percutiatur leo vorans. Up on 
the lion ! Down with the destroyer ! ” said he, shaking 
aloft his mystic abacus, as if in defiance of the powers 
of darkness. “Thy daughter worketh the cures, I 
doubt not,” thus he went on to address the Jew, “by 
words and sigils, and periapts, and other cabalistical 
mysteries.” 

“ Nay, reverend and brave knight,” answered Isaac, 
“but in chief measure by a balsam of marvellous 
virtue.” 

“Where had she that secret said Beaumanoir. 

“ It was delivered to her,” answered Isaac, reluc- 
tantly, “ by Miriam, a sage matron of our tribe.” 

“Ah, false Jew!” said the Grand Master; “was it 
not from that same witch Miriam, the abomination of 
whose enchantments have been heard of throughout 
every Christian land?” exclaimed the Grand Master, 
crossing himself. “ Her body was burnt at a stake, 
and her ashes were scattered to the four winds ; and so 


IVANHOE 


429 


be it with me and mine order, if I do not as much to her 
pupil, and more also! I will teach her to throw spell 
and incantation over the soldiers of the blessed Temple ! 
There, Damian, spurn this Jew from the gate; shoot 
him dead if he oppose or turn again. With his daugh- 
ter we will deal as the Christian law and our own high 
office warrant.” 

Poor Isaac was hurried off accordingly, and expelled 
from the preceptory, all his entreaties, and even his 
offers, unheard and disregarded. He could do no better 
than return to the house of the Rabbi, and endeavour, 
through his means, to learn how his daughter was to be 
disposed of. He had hitherto feared for her honour ; 
he was now to tremble for her life. Meanwhile, the 
Grand Master ordered to his presence the preceptor of 
Templestowe. 


CHAPTER XXXVI 

Say not my art is fraud; all live by seeming. 

The beggar begs with it, and the gay courtier 
Gains land and title, rank and rule, by seeming; 

The clergy scorn it not; and the bold soldier 
Will eke with it his service. Ail admit it. 

All practise it; and he who is content 

With showing what he is shall have small credit 

In church, or camp, or state. So wags the world. 

Old Play. 

A LBERT MALVOISIN, president, or, in the lan- 
guage of the order, preceptor of the establish- 
A. ment of Templestowe, was brother to that 
Philip Malvoisin who has been already occasionally 
mentioned in this history, and was, like that baron, in 
close league with Brian de Bois-Guilbert. 

Among dissolute and unprincipled men, of whom the 
Temple order included but too many, Albert of Templc- 
stowe might be distinguished; but with this difference 


480 


IVANHOE 


from the audacious Bois-Guilbert, that he knew how to 
throw over Ids vices and his ambition the veil of hypoc- 
risy, and to assume in his exterior the fanaticism which 
he internally despised. Had not the arrival of the 
Grand Master been so unexpectedly sudden, he would 
have seen nothing at Templestowe which might have 
appeared to argue any relaxation of discipline. And, 
even although surprised, and to a certain extent de- 
tected, Albert Malvoisin listened with such respect and 
apparent contrition to the rebuke of his superior, and 
made such haste to reform the particulars he censured 
— succeeded, in fine, so well in giving an air of ascetic 
devotion to a family which had been lately devoted to 
license and pleasure, that Lucas Beaumanoir began to 
entertain a higher opinion of the preceptor’s morals 
than the first appearance of the establishment had 
inclined him to adopt. 

But these favourable sentiments on the part of the 
Grand Master were greatly shaken by the intelligence 
that Albert had received within a house of religion 
the Jewish captive, and, as was to be feared, the para- 
mour of a brother of the order ; and when Albert ap- 
peared before him he was regarded with unwonted 
sternness. 

“ There is in this mansion, dedicated to the purposes 
of the holy order of the Temple,” said the Grand 
Master, in a severe tone, “ a Jewish woman, brought 
hither by a brother of religion, by your connivance. 
Sir Preceptor.” 

Albert Malvoisin was overwhelmed with confusion; 
for the unfortunate Rebecca had been confined in a 
remote and secret part of the building, and every pre- 
caution used to prevent her residence there from being 
known. He read in the looks of Beaumanoir ruin to 
Bois-Guilbert and to himself, unless he should be able 
to avert the impending storm. 

‘‘ Why are you mute ? ” continued the Grand Master. ‘ 


IVANHOE 


431 


“ Is it permitted to me to reply ? ’’ answered the pre- 
ceptor, in a tone of the deepest humility, although by 
the question he only meant to gain an instant’s space 
for arranging his ideas. 

“ Speak, you are permitted,” said the Grand Master 
— “ speak, and say, knowest thou the capital of our 
holy rule — De commilitonibus Templi in sancta civi- 
tate, qui cum miserrimis mulierihus versantur, propter 
oblectationem camis? 

j “ Surely, most reverend father,” answered the pre- 
I ceptor, “ I have not risen to this office in the order, being 
ignorant of one of its most important prohibitions.” 

I “ How comes it, then, I demand of thee once more, 

I that thou hast suffered a brother to bring a paramour, 

I and that paramour a Jewish sorceress, into this holy 
I place, to the stain and pollution thereof.?” 

I “A Jewess sorceress!” echoed Albert Malvoisin, 

I “ good angels guard us I ” 

i “ Ay, brother, a Jewish sorceress,” said the Grand 
Master, sternly. “ I have said it. Darest thou deny 
that this Rebecca, the daughter of that wretched usurer 
Isaac of York, and the pupil of the foul witch Miriam, 
is now — shame to be thought or spoken! — lodged 
within this thy preceptory .? ” 

“A"our wisdom, reverend father,” answered the pre- 
ceptor, “ hath rolled away the darkness from my un- 
derstanding. Much did I wonder that so good a knight 
as Brian de Bois-Guilbert seemed so fondly besotted on 
the charms of this female, whom I received into this 
house merely to place a bar betwixt their growing inti- 
macy, which else might have been cemented at the ex- 
pense of the fall of our valiant and religious brother.” 

“ Hath nothing, then, as yet passed betwixt them in 
breach of his vow.?” demanded the Grand Master. 

“ What ! under this roof.? ” said the preceptor, cross- 
ing himself ; “ St. Magdalene and the ten thousand 
virgins forbid! No! if I have sinned in receiving her 




432 


rV^ANHOE 


here, it was in the* erring thought that I might thus 
break off our brother’s besotted devotion to this Jewess, 
which seemed to me so wild and unnatural, that I could 
not but ascribe it to some touch of insanity, more to be 
cured by pity than reproof. But, since your reverend 
wisdom hath discovered this Jewish quean to be a sor- 
ceress, perchance it may account fully for his enam- 
oured folly.” 

“It doth! — it doth!” said Beaumanoir. “See, | 
brother Conrade, the peril of yielding to the first de- ; 
vices and blandishments of Satan! We look upon i 
woman only to gratify the lust of the eye, and to take i 
pleasure in what men call her beauty ; and the Ancient | 
Enemy, the devouring lion, obtains power over us, to i 
complete, by talisman and spell, a work which was be- ; 
gun by idleness and folly. It may be that our brother 
Bois-Guilbert does in this matter deserve rather pity 
than severe chastisement, rather the support of the 
staff than the strokes of the rod ; and that our admoni- 
tions and prayers may turn him from his folly, and 
restore him to his brethren.” 

“ It were deep pity,” said Conrade Mont-Fitchet, “ to 
lose to the order one of its best lances, when the holy 
community most requires the aid of its sons. Three 
hundred Saracens hath this Brian de Bois-Guilbert 
slain with his ovm hand.” 

“ The blood of these accursed dogs,” said the Grand 
Master, “ shall be a sweet and acceptable offering to 
the saints and angels whom they despise and blaspheme ; 
and with their aid will we counteract the spells and 
charms with which our brother is entwined as in a net. 
He shall burst the bands of this Delilah as Samson 
burst the two new cords with which the Philistines had 
bound him, and shall slaughter the infidels, even heaps 
upon heaps. But concerning this foul witch, who hath 
flung her enchantments over a brother of the Holy 
Temple, assuredly she shall die the death.” 


IVANHOE 


433 


“But the laws of England — ” said the preceptor, 
who, though delighted that the Grand Master’s resent- 
ment, thus fortunately averted from himself and Bois- 
Guilbert, had taken another direction, began now to 
fear he was carrying it too far. 

“The laws of England,” interrupted Beaumanoir, 
“ permit and enjoin each judge to execute justice within 
his own jurisdiction. The most petty baron may arrest, 
try, and condemn a witch found within his own domain. 
And shall that power be denied to the Grand Master of 
the Temple within a preceptory of his order No! we 
will judge and condemn. The witch shall be taken 
out of the land, and the wickedness thereof shall be 
forgiven. Prepare the castle hall for the trial of the 
sorceress.” 

Albert Malvoisin bowed and retired, not to give 
directions for preparing the hall, but to seek out Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert, and communicate to him how matters 
were likely to terminate. It was not long ere he found 
him, foaming with indignation at a repulse he had anew 
sustained from the fair Jewess. “ The unthinking,” 
he said — “the ungrateful, to scorn him who, amidst 
blood and flames, would have saved her life at the risk 
of his own ! By Heaven, Malvoisin ! I abode until roof 
and rafters crackled and crashed around me. I was 
the butt of a hundred arrows ; they rattled on mine 
armour like hailstones against a latticed casement, and 
the only use I made of my shield was for her protection. 
This did I endure for her ; and now the self-willed girl 
upbraids me that I did not leave her to perish, and 
refuses me not only the slightest proof of gratitude, but 
even the most distant hope that ever she will be brought 
to grant any. The devil, that possessed her race with 
obstinacy, has concentrated its full force in her single 
person ! ” 

“ The devil,” said the preceptor, “ I think, possessed 
you both. How oft have I preached to you caution, if 
28 


434 


IVANHOE 


not continence? Did I not tell you that there were 
enough willing Christian damsels to be met with, who 
would think it sin to refuse so brave a knight le don 
d' amoureux merely and you must needs anchor affection 
on a wilful, obstinate Jewess ! By the mass, I think 
old Lucas Beaumanoir guesses right, when he maintains 
she hath cast a spell over you.” 

“ Lucas Beaumanoir ! ” said Bois-Guilbert, reproach- 
fully. “ Are these your precautions, Malvoisin ? Hast 
thou suffered the dotard to learn that Rebecca is in the 
preceptory ? ” 

“How could I help it?” said the preceptos. “I 
neglected nothing that could keep secret your mystery ; 
but it is betrayed, and whether by the devil or no, the 
devil only can tell. But I have turned the matter as I 
could; you are safe if you renounce Rebecca. You are 
pitied — the victim of magical delusion. She is a sor- 
ceress, and must suffer as such.” 

“ She shall not, by Heaven ! ” said Bois-Guilbert. 

“ By Heaven, she must and will ! ” said Malvoisin. 
“ Neither you nor any one else can save her. Lucas 
Beaumanoir hath settled that the death of a Jewess will 
be a sin-offering sufficient to atone for all the amorous 
indulgences of the Knights Templars ; and thou know- 
est he hath both the power and will to execute so reason- 
able and pious a purpose.” 

“Will future ages believe that such stupid bigotry 
ever existed ! ” said Bois-Guilbert, striding up and down 
the apartment. 

“ What they may believe, I know not,” said Malvoi- 
sin, calmly ; “ but I know well, that in this our day 
clergy and laymen, take ninety-nine to the hundred, 
will cry ‘ Amen ’ to the Grand Master’s sentence.” 

“ I have it,” said Bois-Guilbert. “ Albert, thou art 
my friend. Thou must connive at her escape, Malvoisin, 
and I will transport her to some place of greater se- 
curity and secrecy.” 


IVANHOE 


435 


‘‘ I cannot, if I would,” replied the preceptor : “ the 
mansion is filled with the attendants of the Grand Mas- 
ter, and others who are devoted to him. And, to be 
frank with you, brother, I would not embark with you 
in this matter, even if I could hope to bring my bark to 
haven. I have risked enough already for your sake. 
I have no mind to encounter a sentence of degradation, 
or even to lose my preceptory, for the sake of a painted 
piece of Jewish flesh and blood. And you, if you will 
be guided by my counsel, will give up this wild-goose 
chase, and fly 3mur hawk at some other game. Think, 
Bois-Guilbert ; thy present rank, thy future honours, 
all depend on thy place in the order. Shouldst thou 
adhere perversely to thy passion for this Rebecca, thou 
wilt give Beaumanoir the power of expelling thee, and 
he will not neglect it. He is jealous of the truncheon 
which he holds in his trembling gripe, and he knows 
thou stretchest thy bold hand towards it. Doubt not 
he will ruin thee, if thou affordest him a pretext so 
fair as thy protection of a Jewish sorceress. Give him 
his scope in this matter, for thou canst not control 
him. When the staff is in thine own firm grasp, thou 
mayest caress the daughters of Judah, or bum them, 
as may best suit thine own humour.” 

“Malvoisin,” said Bois-Guilbert, “thou art a cold- 
blooded — ” 

“ Friend,” said the preceptor, hastening to fill up the 
blank, in which Bois-Guilbert would probably have 
placed a worse word — “a cold-blooded friend I am, and 
therefore more fit to give thee advice. I tell thee once 
more, that thou canst not save Rebecca. I tell thee 
once more, thou canst but perish with her. Go hie 
thee to the Grand Master; throw thyself at his feet 
and tell him — ” 

“Not at his feet, by Heaven! but to the dotard’s 
very beard will I say — ” 

“ Say to him, then, to his beard,” continued Malvoisin, 


436 


IVANHOE 


coolly, “that you love this captive Jewess to distrac- 
tion ; and the more thou dost enlarge on thy passion, 
the greater will be his haste to end it by the death of the 
fair enchantress ; while thou, taken in flagrant delict 
by the avowal of a crime contrary to thine oath, canst 
hope no aid of thy brethren, and must exchange all 
thy brilliant visions of ambition and power, to lift per- 
haps a mercenary spear in some of the petty quarrels 
between Flanders and Burgundy.” 

“ Thou speakest the truth, Malvoisin,” said Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert, after a moment’s reflection. “ I will 
give the hoary bigot no advantage over me; and for 
Rebecca, she hath not merited at my hand that I 
should expose rank and honour for her sake. I will 
cast her off ; yes, I will leave her to her fate, unless — ” 
“ Qualify not thy wise and necessary resolution,” said 
Malvoisin ; “ women are but the toys which amuse our 
lighter hours ; ambition is the serious business of life. 
Perish a thousand such frail baubles as this Jewess, 
before thy manly step pause in the brilliant career that 
lies stretched before thee ! For the present we part, nor 
must we be seen to hold close conversation ; I must 
order the hall for his judgment-seat.” 

“ What ! ” said Bois-Guilbert, “ so soon ? ” 

“ Ay,” replied the preceptor, “ trial moves rapidly 
on when the iudge has determined the sentence before- 
hand.” 

“Rebecca,” said Bois-Guilbert, wFen he was left 
alone, “ thou art like to cost me dear. Why cannot I 
abandon thee to thy fate, as this calm hypocrite recom- 
mends? One effort will I make to save thee; but be- 
ware of ingratitude! for, if I am again repulsed, my 
vengeance shall equal my love. The life and honour 
of Bois-Guilbert must not be hazarded, where contempt 
and reproaches are his only reward.” 

The preceptor had hardly given the necessary orders, 
when he was joined by Conrade Mont-Fitchct, who 


IVANHOE 


437 


acquainted him with the Grand Master’s resolution to 
bring the Jewess to instant trial for sorcery. 

“ It is surely a dream,” said the preceptor ; “ we 
have many Jewish physicians, and we call them not 
wizards though they work wonderful cures.” 

“ The Grand Master thinks otherwise,” said Mont- 
Fitchet; “and, Albert, I will be upright with thee: 
wizard or not, it were better that this miserable damsel 
die than that Brian de Bois-Guilbert should be lost to the 
order, or the order divided by internal dissension. Thou 
knowest his high rank, his fame in arms ; thou knowest 
the zeal with which many of our brethren regard him ; 
but all this will not avail him with our Grand Master, 
should he consider Brian as the accomplice, not the 
victim, of this Jewess. Were the souls of the twelve 
tribes in her single body, it were better she suffered 
alone than that Bois-Guilbert were partner in her 
destruction.” 

“ I have been working him even now to abandon her,” 
said Malvoisin ; “ but still, are there grounds enough to 
condemn this Rebecca for sorcery.^ Will not the Grand 
Master change his mind when he sees that the proofs 
are so weak.?” 

“ They must be strengthened, Albert,” replied Mont- 
Fit chet — “they must be strengthened. Dost thou 
understand me.?” 

“ I do,” said the preceptor, “ nor do I scruple to do 
aught for advancement of the order; but there is little 
time to find engines fitting.” 

“ Malvoisin, they must be found,” said Conrade ; 
“ well will it advantage both the order and thee. This 
Templestowe is a poor preceptory; that of Maison- 
Dieu is worth double its value. Thou knowest my in- 
terest with our old chief ; find those who can carry this 
matter through, and thou art preceptor of Maison- 
Dieu in the fertile Kent. How sayest thou.?” 

“ There is,” replied Malvoisin, “ among those who 


438 


IVANHOE 


came hither with Bois-Guilbert, two fellows whom I well 
know ; servants they were to my brother Philip de Mal- 
voisin, and passed from his service to that of Front-de- 
Boeuf. It may be they know something of the witcheries 
of this woman.” 

“ Away, seek them out instantly ; and hark thee, if a 
byzant or two will sharpen their memory, let them not 
be wanting.” 

“ They would swear the mother that bore them a 
sorceress for a zecchin,” said the preceptor. 

“ Away, then,” said Mont-Fitchet ; ‘‘ at noon the 
affair will proceed. I have not seen our senior in such 
earnest preparation since he condemned to the stake 
Hamet Alfagi, a convert who relapsed to the Moslem 
faith.” 

The ponderous castle-bell had tolled the point of 
noon, when Rebecca heard a trampling of feet upon the 
private stair which led to her place of confinement. 
The noise announced the arrival of several persons, and 
the circumstance rather gave her joy; for she was 
more afraid of the solitary visits of the fierce and pas- 
sionate Bois-Guilbert than of any evil that could befall 
her besides. The door of the chamber was unlocked, 
and Conrade and the preceptor Malvoisin entered, at- 
tended by four warders clothed in black, and bearing 
halberds. 

“ Daughter of an accursed race ! ” said the preceptor, 
“ arise and follow us.” 

“ Whither,” said Rebecca, “ and for what purpose.? ” 

“Damsel,” answered Conrade, “it is not for thee to 
question, but to obey. Nevertheless, be it known to thee, 
that thou art to be brought before the tribunal of the 
Grand Master of our holy order, there to answer for 
thine offences.” . 

“May the God of Abraham be praised!” said Re- 
becca, folding her hands devoutly ; “ the name of a 
judge, though an enemy to my people, is to me as the 


IVANIIOE 


439 


name of a protector. Most willingly do I follow thee ; 
permit me only to wrap my veil around my head.” 

They descended the stair with slow and solemn step, 
traversed a long gallery, and, by a pair of folding- 
doors placed at the end, entered the great hall in which 
the Grand Master had for the time established his court 
of justice. 

The lower part of this ample apartment was filled 
with -squires and yeomen, who made way, not without 
some difficulty, for Rebecca, attended by the preceptor 
and Mont-Fitchet, and followed by the guard of hal- 
berdiers, to move forward to the seat appointed for her. 
As she passed through the crowd, her arms folded and 
her head depressed, a scrap of paper was thrust into 
her hand, which she received almost unconsciously, 
and continued to hold without examining its contents. 
The assurance that she possessed some friend in this 
awful assembly gave her courage to look around, and to 
mark into whose presence she had been conducted. She 
gazed, accordingly, upon the scene, which we shall 
endeavour to describe in the next chapter. 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


Stern was the law which bade its vot’ries leave 
At human woes with human hearts to grieve; 

Stern was the law, which at the winning wile 
Of frank and harmless mirth forbade to smile; 

But sterner still, when high the iron rod 

Of tyrant power she shook, and call’d that power of God. 

The Middle Ages. 

T he tribunal, erected for the trial of the inno- 
cent and unhappy Rebecca, occupied the dais 
or elevated part of the upper end of the great 
hall — a platform which we have already described as 
the place of honour, destined to be occupied by the 


440 I\ ANHOE 

most distinguished inhabitants or guests of an ancient 
mansion. 

On an elevated seat, directly before the accused, sat 
the Grand Master of the Temple, in full and ample 
robes of flowing white, holding in his hand the mystic 
staff which bore the symbol of the order. At his feet 
was placed a table, occupied by two scribes, chaplains 
of the order, whose duty it was to reduce to formal 
record the proceedings of the day. The black dresses, 
bare scalps, and demure looks of these churchmen 
formed a strong contrast to the warlike appearance 
of the knights who attended, either as residing in the 
preceptory or as come thither to attend upon their 
Grand Master. The preceptors, of whom there were 
four present, occupied seats lower in height, and some- 
what drawn back behind that of their superior ; and the 
knights who enjoyed no such rank in the order were 
placed on benches still lower, and preserving the same 
distance from the preceptors as these from the Grand 
Master. Behind them, but still upon the dais or ele- 
vated portion of the hall, stood the esquires of the 
order, in white dresses of an inferior quality. 

The whole assembly wore an aspect of the most pro- 
found gravity ; and in the faces of the knights might 
be perceived traces of military daring, united with the 
solemn carriage becoming men of a religious profes- 
sion, and which, in the presence of their Grand Master, 
failed not to sit upon every brow. 

The remaining and lower part of the hall was filled 
with guards, holding partizans, and with other attend- 
ants whom curiosity had drawn thither to see at once a 
Grand Master and a Jewish sorceress. By far the 
greater part of those inferior persons were, in one rank 
or other, connected with the order, and were accord- 
ingly distinguished by their black dresses. But peas- 
ants from the neighbouring country were not refused 
admittance; for it was the pride of Beaumanoir to 


IVANHOE 


441 


render the edifying spectacle of the justice which he 
administered as public as possible. His large blue eyes 
seemed to expand as he gazed around the assembly, 
and his countenance appeared elated by the conscious 
dignity and imaginary merit of the part which he was 
about to perform. A psalm, which he himself accom- 
panied with a deep mellow voice, which age had not 
deprived of its powers, commenced the proceedings of 
the day ; and the solemn sounds, Venite^ exult emus 
Domino, so often sung by the Templars before engag- 
ing with earthly adversaries, was judged by Lucas 
most appropriate to introduce the approaching tri- 
umph, for such he deemed it, over the powers of dark- 
ness. The deep prolonged notes, raised by a hundred 
masculine voices accustomed to combine in the choral 
chant, arose to the vaulted roof of the hall, and rolled 
on amongst its arches with the pleasing yet solemn 
sound of the rushing of mighty waters. 

When the sounds ceased, the Grand Master glanced 
his eye slowly around the circle, and observed that the 
seat of one of the preceptors was vacant. Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, by whom it had been occupied, had left 
his place, and was now standing near the extreme 
corner of one of the benches occupied by the knights 
companions of the Temple, one hand extending his 
long mantle, so as in some degree to hide his face ; 
while the other held his cross-handled sword, with the 
point of which, sheathed as it was, he was slowly draw- 
ing lines upon the oaken floor. 

“Unhappy man!” said the Grand Master, after 
favouring him with a glance of compassion. “ Thou 
seest, Conrade, how this holy work distresses him. To 
this can the light look of woman, aided by the Prince 
of the Powers of this world, bring a valiant and worthy 
knight I Seest thou he cannot look upon us ; he can- 
not look upon her; and who knows by what impulse 
from his tormentor his hand forms these cabalistic 


442 


IVANHOE 


lines upon the floor? It may be our life and safety 
are thus aimed at; but we spit at and defy the foul 
enemy. Sem'per Leo percutiatur! ” 

This was communicated apart to his confidential 
follower, Conrade Mont-Fitchet. The Grand Master 
then raised his voice and addressed the assembly. 

“ Reverend and valiant men, knights, preceptors, 
and companions of this holy order, my brethren and 
my children! you also, well-born and pious esquires, 
who aspire to wear this Holy Cross 1 and you also, 
Christian brethren, of every degree! — be it known to 
you, that it is not defect of power in us which hath 
occasioned the assembling of this congregation ; for, 
however unworthy in our person, yet to us is committed, 
with this batoon, full power to judge and to try all 
that regards the weal of this our holy order. Holy St. 
Bernard, in the rule of our knightly and religious pro- 
fession, hath said, in the fifty-ninth capital, that he 
would not that brethren be called together in council, 
save at the will and command of the Master; leaving 
it free to us, as to those more worthy fathers who have 
preceded us in this our office, to judge as well of the 
occasion as of the time and place in which a chapter 
of the whole order, or of any part thereof, may be 
convoked. Also, in all such chapters, it is our duty 
to hear the advice of our brethren, and to proceed 
according to our own pleasure. But when the rag- 
ing wolf hath made an inroad upon the flock, and car- 
ried off one member thereof, it is the duty of the kind 
shepherd to call his comrades together, that with bows 
and slings they may quell the invader, according to 
our well-known rule, that the lion is ever to be beaten 
down. We have therefore summoned to our presence 
a Jewish woman, by name Rebecca, daughter of Isaac 
of York — woman infamous for sortileges and for 
witcheries ; whereby she hath maddened the blood, and 
besotted the brain, not of a churl, but of a knight ; not 


IVANHOE 


443 


of a secular knight, but of one devoted to the service of 
the Holy Temple; not of a knight companion, but of 
a preceptor of our order, first in honour as in place. 
Our brother, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, is well known to 
ourselves, and to all degrees who now hear me, as a true 
and zealous champion of the Cross, by whose arm many 
deeds of valour have been wrought in the Holy Land, 
and the holy places purified from pollution by the blood 
of those infidels who defiled them. Neither have our 
brother’s sagacity and prudence been less in repute 
among his brethren than his valour and discipline ; in- 
somuch that knights, both in eastern and western lands, 
have named De Bois-Guilbert as one who may well be 
put in nomination as successor to this batoon, when it 
shall please Heaven to release us from the toil of bear- 
ing it. If we were told that such a man, so honoured, 
and so honourable, suddenly casting away regard for 
his character, his vows, his brethren, and his prospects, 
had associated to himself a Jewish damsel, wandered in 
this lewd company through solitary places, defended 
her person in preference to his own, and, finally, was 
so utterly blinded and besotted by his folly, as to bring 
her even to one of our own preceptories, what should 
we say but that the noble knight was possessed by some 
evil demon, or influenced by some wicked spell? If we 
could suppose it otherwise, think not rank, valour, high 
repute, or any earthly consideration, should prevent 
us from visiting him with punishment, that the evil 
thing might be removed, even according to the text, 
Auferte malum ex vohis. For various and heinous are 
the acts of transgression against the rule of our blessed 
order in this lamentable history. 1st, He hath walked 
according to his proper will, contrary to capital 33, 
Quod nullus juxta propriam voluntatem incedat. 2d, 
He hath held communication with an excommunicated 
person, capital 57, Ut fratres non participent cum ex- 
communicatis, and therefore hath a portion in Anathema 


444 


lYANHOE 


Maranatha, 3d, He hath conversed with strange 
women, contrary to the capital, Ut fratres non conver- 
santur cum extraneis mulierihus. 4th, He hath not 
avoided, nay, he hath, it is to be feared, solicited, the 
kiss of woman, by which, saith the last rule of our re- 
nowned order, Ut fugiantur oscula, the soldiers of the 
Cross are brought into a snare. For which heinous and 
multiplied guilt, Brian de Bois-Guilbert should be cut 
off and cast out from our congregation, were he the 
right hand and right eye thereof.” 

He paused. A low murmur went through the as- 
sembly. Some of the younger part, who had been 
inclined to smile at the statute De osculis fugiendis, 
became now grave enough, and anxiously waited what 
the Grand Master was next to propose. 

“ Such,” he said, “ and so great should indeed be the 
punishment of a Knight Templar who wilfully offended 
against the rules of his order in such weighty points. 
But if, by means of charms and of spells, Satan had 
obtained dominion over the knight, perchance because 
he cast his eyes too lightly upon a damsel’s beauty, 
we are then rather to lament than chastise his back- 
sliding ; and, imposing on him only such penance as 
may purify him from his iniquity, we are to turn the 
full edge of our indignation upon the accursed instru- 
ment, which had so wellnigh occasioned his utter falling 
away.'^ Stand forth, therefore, and bear witness, ye who 
have witnessed these unhappy doings, that we may judge 
of the sum and bearing thereof ; and judge whether our 
justice may be satisfied with the punishment of this in- 
fidel woman, or if we must go on, with a bleeding heart, 
to the further proceeding against our brother.” ' 

Several witnesses were called upon to prove the risks 
to which Bois-Guilbert exposed himself in endeavouring 
to save Rebecca from the blazing castle, and his neglect 
of his personal defence in attending to her safety. The 
men gave these details with the exaggerations common 


IVANHOE 


445 


t 

to vulgar minds which have been strongly excited by 
any remarkable event, and their natural disposition to 
the marvellous was greatly increased by the satisfac- 
tion which their evidence seemed to afford to the eminent 
I person for whose information it had been delivered. 
Thus the dangers which Bois-Guilbert surmounted, in 
themselves sufficiently great, became portentous in 
their narrative. The devotion of the knight to Re- 
becca’s defence was exaggerated beyond the bounds 
not only of discretion, but even of the most frantic 
excess of chivalrous zeal ; and his deference to what 
she said, even although her language was often severe 
and upbraiding, was painted as carried to an excess 
which, in a man of his haughty temper, seemed almost 
preternatural. 

The preceptor of Templestowe was then called on 
to describe the manner in which Bois-Guilbert and the 
Jewess arrived at the preceptory. The evidence of 
Malvoisin was skilfully guarded. But while he appar- 
ently studied to spare the feelings of Bois-Guilbert, he 
threw in, from time to time, such hints as seemed to 
infer that he laboured under some temporary alienation 
of mind, so deeply did he appear to be enamoured of the 
damsel whom he brought along with him. With sighs 
of penitence, the preceptor avowed his own contrition 
for having admitted Rebecca and her lover within the 
walls of the preceptory. “ But my defence,” he con- 
cluded, “ has been made in my confession to our most 
reverend father the Grand Master ; he knows my 
motives were not evil, though my conduct may have 
been irregular. Joyfully will I submit to any penance 
he shall assign me.” 

“ Thou hast spoken well, brother Albert,” said 
Beaumanoir ; “ thy motives were good, since thou didst 
judge it right to arrest thine erring brother in his 
career of precipitate folly. But thy conduct was 
wrong; as he that would stop a runaway steed, and 


446 


IVANHOE 


seizing by the stirrup instead of the bridle, receiveth 
injury liimself, instead of accomplishing his purpose. 
Thirteen paternosters are assigned by our pious 
founder for matins, and nine for vespers ; be those 
services doubled by thee. Thrice a-week are Templars 
permitted the use of flesh; but do thou keep fast for 
all the seven days. This do for six weeks to come, 
and thy penance is accomplished.” 

With a hyprocritical look of the deepest submission, 
the preceptor of Templestowe bowed to the ground 
before his superior, and resumed his seat. 

“ Were it not well, brethren,” said the Grand Master, 
“ that we examine something into the former life and 
conversation of this woman, specially that we may dis- 
cover whether she be one likely to use magical charms 
and spells, since the truths which we have heard may 
well incline us to suppose that in this unhappy course 
our erring brother has been acted upon by some infernal 
enticement and delusion F ” 

Herman of Goodalricke was the fourth preceptor 
present ; the other three were Conrade, Malvoisin, and 
Bois-Guilbert himself. Herman was an ancient warrior, 
whose face was marked with scars inflicted by the 
sabre of the Moslemah, and had great rank and con- 
sideration among his brethren. He arose and bowed 
to the Grand Master, who instantly granted him license 
of speech. “ I would crave to know, most reverend 
father, of our valiant brother, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
what he says to these wondrous accusations, and with 
what eye he himself now regards his unhappy inter- 
course with this Jewish maiden.^” 

“ Brian de Bois-Guilbert,” said the Grand Master, 
“ thou hearest the question which our brother of Goodal- 
ricke desirest thou shouldst answer. I command thee 
to reply to him.” 

Bois-Guilbert turned his head towards the Grand 
Master when thus addressed, and remained silent. 


IVANHOE 


447 


“ He is possessed by a dumb devil,” said the Grand 
Master. “ Avoid thee, Sathanas ! Speak, Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, I conjure thee, by this symbol of our 
holy order.” 

Bois-Guilbert made an effort to suppress his rising 
scorn and indignation, the expression of which, he was 
well aware, would have little availed him. “ Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert,” he answered, ‘‘ replies not, most rever- 
end father, to such wild and vague charges. If his 
honour be impeached, he will defend it with his body, 
and with that sword which has often fought for 
Christendom.” 

“We forgive thee, brother Brian,” said the Grand 
Master; “though that thou hast boasted thy warlike 
achievements before us is a glorifying of thine own 
deeds, and cometh of the Enemy, who tempteth us to 
exalt our own worship. But thou hast our pardon, 
judging thou speakest less of thine own suggestion 
than from the impulse of him whom, by Heaven’s leave, 
we will quell and drive forth from our assembly.” A 
glance of disdain flashed from the dark fierce eyes of 
Bois-Guilbert, but he made no reply. “And now,” 
pursued the Grand Master, “ since our brother of 
Goodalricke’s question has been thus imperfectly an- 
swered, pursue we our quest, brethren, and with our 
patron’s assistance we will search to the bottom this 
mystery of iniquity. Let those who have aught to 
witness of the life and conversation of this Jev/^ish 
woman stand forth before us.” 

There was a bustle in the lower part of the hall, and 
when the Grand Master inquired the reason, it was 
replied, there was in the crowd a bedridden man, whom 
the prisoner had restored to the perfect use of his 
limbs, by a miraculous balsam. 

The poor peasant, a Saxon by birth, was dragged 
forward to the bar, terrified at the penal consequences 
which he might have incurred by the guilt of having 


448 


IVANHOE 


been cured of the palsy by a Jewish damsel. Perfectly 
cured he certainly was not, for he supported himself 
forward on crutches to give evidence. Most unwilling 
was his testimony, and given with many tears; but 
he admitted that two years since, when residing at 
York, he was suddenly afflicted with a sore disease, 
while labouring for Isaac the rich Jew, in his vocation 
of a joiner; that he had been unable to stir from his 
bed until the remedies applied by Rebecca’s directions, 
and especially a warming and spicy-smelling balsam, 
had in some degree restored him to the use of his limbs. 
Moreover, he said, she had given him a pot of that pre- 
cious ointment, and furnished him with a piece of money 
withal, to return to the house of his father, near to 
Templestowe. “ And may it please your gracious rev- 
erence,” said the man, ‘‘ I cannot think the damsel meant 
harm by me, though she hath the ill hap to be a Jew- 
ess ; for even when I used her remedy, I said the 
pater and the creed, and it never operated a whit less 
kindly.” 

“ Peace, slave,” said the Grand Master, “ and be- 
gone! It well suits brutes like thee to be tampering 
and trinketing with hellish cures, and to be giving 
your labour to the sons of mischief. I tell thee, the 
fiend can impose diseases for the very purpose of remov- 
ing them, in order to bring into credit some diabolical 
fashion of cure. Hast thou that unguent of which thou 
speakest ? ” 

The peasant, fumbling in liis bosom with a trem- 
bling hand, produced a small box, bearing some Hebrew 
characters on the lid, which was, with most of the 
audience, a sure proof that the devil had stood apothe- 
cary. Beaumanoir, after crossing himself, took the box 
into his hand, and, learned in most of the Eastern 
tongues, read with ease the motto on the lid — “ The 
Lion of the Tribe of Judah hath conquered.” “ Strange 
powers of Sathanas,” said he, “ which can convert 


IVANHOE 


449 


Scripture into blasphemy, mingling poison with our 
necessary food ! Is there no leech here who can tell us 
the ingredients of this mystic unguent ? ” 

Two mediciners, as they called themselves, the one a 
monk, the other a barber, appeared, and avouched they 
knew nothing of the materials, excepting that they 
savoured of myrrh and camphire, which they took to 
be Oriental herbs. But with the true professional 
hatred to a successful practitioner of their art, they in- 
sinuated that, since the medicine was beyond their own 
knowledge, it must necessarily have been compounded 
from an unlawful and magical pharmacopoeia ; since 
they themselves, though no conjurors, fully understood 
every branch of their art, so far as it might be exer- 
cised with the good faith of a Christian. When this 
medical research was ended, the Saxon peasant desired 
humbly to have back the medicine which he had found 
so salutary; but the Grand Master frowned severely 
at the request. ‘‘What is thy name, fellow.?” said he 
to the cripple. 

“ Higg, the son of Snell,” answered the peasant. 

“ Then, Higg, son of Snell,” said the Grand Master, 
“ I tell thee, it is better to be bedridden than to accept 
the benefit of unbelievers’ medicine that thou mayest 
arise and walk ; better to despoil infidels of their treas- 
ure by the strong hand than to accept of them benevo- 
lent gifts, or do them service for wages. Go thou, and 
do as I have said.” 

“ Alack,” said the peasant, “ an it shall not displease 
your reverence, the lesson comes too late for me, for I 
am but a maimed man ; but I will tell my two brethren, 
who serve the rich rabbi Nathan ben Samuel, that your 
mastership says it is more lawful to rob him than to 
render him faithful service.” 

“Out with the prating villain!” said Beaumanoir, 
who was not prepared to refute this practical applica- 
tion of his general maxim. 

29 


450 


IVANHOE 


Higg, the son of Snell, withdrew into the crowd, but, 
interested in the fate of his benefactress, lingered until 
he should learn her doom, even at the risk of again 
encountering the frown of that severe judge, the terror 
of which withered his very heart within him. 

At this period of the trial, the Grand Master com- 
manded Rebecca to unveil herself. Opening her lips for 
the first time, she replied patiently, but with dignity, 
“ That it was not the wont of the daughters of her peo- 
ple to uncover their faces when alone in an assembly of 
strangers.” The sweet tones of her voice, and the soft- 
ness of her reply, impressed on the audience a sentiment 
of pity and sympathy. But Beaumanoir, in whose 
mind the suppression of each feeling of humanity which 
could interfere with his imagined duty was a virtue of 
itself, repeated his commands that his victim should be 
unveiled. The guards were about to remove her veil 
accordingly, when she stood up before the Grand 
Master, and said, ‘‘Nay, but for the love of your own 
daughters — alas,” she said, recollecting herself, “ye 
have no daughters! — yet for the remembrance of your 
mothers, for the love of your sisters, and of female de- 
cency, let me not be thus handled in your presence: it 
suits not a maiden to be disrobed by such rude grooms. 
I will obey you,” she added, with an expression of 
patient sorrow in her voice, which had almost melted 
the heart of Beaumanoir himself ; “ ye are elders among 
your people, and at your command I will show the feat- 
ures of an ill-fated maiden.” 

■/ She withdrew her veil, and looked on them with a 
countenance in which bashfulness contended with dig- 
nity. Her exceeding beauty excited a murmur of sur- 
prise, and the younger knights told each other with 
their eyes, in silent correspondence, that Brian’s best 
apology was in the power of her real charms, rather 
than of her imaginary witchcraft. But Higg, the son 
of Snell, felt most deeply the effect produced by the 


IVANHOE 


451 


sight of the countenance of his benefactress. “Let me 
go forth,” he said to the warders at the door of the 
hall — “let me go forth! To look at her again will 
kill me, for I have had a share in murdering her.” 

*“ Peace, poor man,” said Rebecca, when she heard 
his exclamation ; “ thou hast done me no harm by speak- 
ing the truth ; thou canst not aid me by thy complaints 
or lamentations. Peace, I pray thee; go home and 
save thyself.” u- 

Higg was about to be thrust out by the compassion 
of the warders, who were apprehensive lest his clamor- 
ous grief should draw upon them reprehension, and 
upon himself punishment. But he promised to be silent, 
and was permitted to remain. The two men-at-arms, 
with whom Albert Malvoisin had not failed to commu- 
nicate upon the import of their testimony, were now 
called forward. Though both were hardened and in- 
flexible villains, the sight of the captive maiden, as 
well as her excelling beauty, at first appeared to stag- 
ger them ; but an expressive glance from the preceptor 
of Templestowe restored them to their dogged compos- 
ure ; and they delivered, with a precision which would 
have seemed suspicious to more impartial judges, cir- 
cumstances either altogether fictitious or trivial, and 
natural in themselves, but rendered pregnant with sus- 
picion by the exaggerated manner in which they were 
.':old, and the sinister commentary which the witnesses 
added to the facts. The circumstances of their evidence 
would have been, in modern days, divided into two 
classes — those which were immaterial and those which 
were actually and physically impossible. But both 
were, in those ignorant and superstitious times, easily 
credited as proofs of guilt. The first class set forth that 
Rebecca was heard to mutter to herself in an unknown 
tongue; that the songs she sung by fits were of a 
strangely sweet sound, which made the ears of the 
hearer tingle and his heart throb; that she spoke at 


452 


IVANHOE 


times to herself, and seemed to look upward for a reply ; 
that her garments were of a strange and mystic form, 
unlike those of women of good repute ; that she had 
rings impressed with cabalistical devices, and that 
strange characters were broidered on her veil. All 
these circumstances, so natural and so trivial, were 
gravely listened to as proofs, or at least as affording 
strong suspicions, that Rebecca had unlawful corre- 
spondence with mystical powers. 

But there was less equivocal testimony, which the 
credulity of the assembly, or of the greater part, 
greedily swallowed, however incredible. One of the 
soldiers had seen her work a cure upon a wounded! 
man brought with them to the castle of Torquilstone. i 
She did, he said, make certain signs upon the wound, 
and repeated certain mysterious words, which he blessed | 
God he understood not, when the iron head of a square 
crossbow bolt disengaged itself from the wound, the 
bleeding was stanched, the wound was closed, and the 
dydng man was, within the quarter of an hour, walk- 
ing upon the ramparts, and assisting the witness in 
managing a mangonel, or machine for hurling stones. 
This legend was probably founded upon the fact that 
Rebecca had attended on the wounded Ivanhoe when in 
the castle of Torquilstone. But it was the more diffi- 
cult to dispute the accuracy of the witness,- as, in order 
to produce real evidence in support of his verbal testi- 
mony, he drew from his pouch the very bolt-head which,: 
according to his story, had been miraculously extracted' 
from the wound; and as the iron weighed a full ounce,| 
it completely confirmed the tale, however miraculous. | 

His comrade had been a witness from a neighbouring! 
battlement of the scene betwixt Rebecca and Bois- 
Guilbert, when she was upon the point of precipitating 
herself from the top of the tower. Not to be behind 
his companion, this fellow stated that he had seen Re- 
becca perch herself upon the parapet of the turret. 


IVANHOE 


453 


and there take the form of a milk-white swan, under 
which appearance she flitted three times round the 
castle of Torquilstone ; then again settle on the turret, 
and once more assume the female form. 

Less than one half of this weighty evidence would 
have been sufficient to convict any old v/oman, poor and 
even though she had not been a Jewess. United 
with that fatal circumstance, the body of proof was 
too weighty for Rebecca’s youth, though combined with 
the most exquisite beauty. 

The Grand Master had collected the suffrages, and 
now in a solemn tone demanded of Rebecca what she 
had to say against the sentence of condemnation which 
he was about to pronounce. 

To invoke your pity,” said the lovely Jewess, with 
a voice tremulous with emotion, “would, I am aware, 
be as useless as I should hold it mean.*^ To state, that 
to relieve the sick and wounded of another religion can- 
not be displeasing to the acknowledged Founder of 
both our faiths, were also unavailing; to plead, that 
many things which these men — whom may Heaven 
pardon ! — have spoken against me are impossible, 
would avail me but little, since you believe in their 
possibility ; ‘^and still less would it advantage me to 
explain that the peculiarities of my dress, language, 
and manners are those of my people — I had wellnigh 
said of my country, but, alas ! we have no country. 
Nor will I even vindicate myself at the expense of my 
oppressor, who stands there listening to' the fictions 
and surmises which seem to convert the tyrant into the 
victim. God be judge between him and me! but rather 
would I submit to ten such deaths as your pleasure 
may denounce against me than listen to the suit which 
that man of Belial has urged upon me — friendless, 
defenceless, and his prisoner. But he is of your own 
faith, and his lightest affirmance would weigh down the 
most solemn protestations of the distressed Jewess. I 


454 


IVANHOE 


will not therefore return to himself the charge brought 
against me; but to himself — yes, Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, to thyself I appeal, whether these accusa- 
tions are not false? ^s monstrous and calumnious as 
they are deadly ? ” 

There was a pause ; all eyes turned to Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert. He was silent. 

“ Speak,” she said, “ if thou art a man ; if thou art 
a Christian, speak! I conjure thee, by the habit which 
thou dost wear — by the name thou dost inherit — by 
the knighthood thou dost vaunt — by the honour of thy 
mother — by the tomb and the bones of thy father — 
I conjure thee to say, are these things true?” 

“ Answer her, brother,” said the Grand Master, “ if 
the Enemy with whom thou dost wrestle will give thee 
power.” 

In fact, Bois-Guilbert seemed agitated by contending 
passions, which almost convulsed his features, and it 
was with a constrained voice that at last he replied, 
looking to Rebecca — “ The scroll 1 — the scroll I ” 

‘‘ Ay,” said Beaumanoir, “ this is indeed testimony 1 
The victim of her witcheries can only name the fatal 
scroll, the spell inscribed on which is, doubtless, the 
cause of his silence.” 

But Rebecca put another interpretation on the words 
extorted as it were from Bois-Guilbert, and glancing 
her eye upon the slip of parchment which she continued 
to hold in her hand, she read written thereupon in the 
Arabian character, ‘‘ Demand a champion 1 ” The mur- 
muring commentary which ran through the assembly at 
the strange reply of Bois-Guilbert gave Rebecca leisure 
to examine and instantly to destroy the scroll unobserved. 
When the whisper had ceased, the Grand Master spoke. 

“ Rebecca, thou canst derive no benefit from the evi- 
dence of this unhappy knight, for whom, as we well 
perceive, the Enemy is yet too powerful. Hast thou 
aught else to say ? ” 


IVANHOE 


455 


“ There is yet one chance of life left to me,” said 
Rebecca, “ even by your own fierce laws. Life has been 
miserable — miserable, at least, of late — but I will not 
cast away the gift of God while He affords me the 
means of defending it. I deny this charge : I main- 
tain my innocence, and I declare the falsehood of this 
accusation. I challenge the privilege of trial by com- 
bat, and will appear by my champion.” 

“ And who, Rebecca,” replied the Grand Master, 
“ w ill lay lance in rest for a sorceress ? who will be the 
champion of a Jewess.?^” 

/ “ God will raise me up a champion,” said Rebecca. 
‘‘ It cannot be that in merry England, the hospitable, 
the generous, the free, where so many are ready to 
peril their lives for honour, there will not be found one 
to fight for justice. But it is enough that I challenge 
the trial by combat: there lies my gage.” 

She took her embroidered glove from her hand, and 
flung it down before the Grand Master with an air of 
mingled simplicity and dignity which excited universal 
surprise and admiration. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 

There I throw my gage, 

To prove it on thee to the extremest point 
Of martial daring. 

Richard II. 

E ven Lucas Beaumanoir himself was affected by 
the mien and appearance of Rebecca. He was 
not originally a cruel or even a severe man ; but 
with passions by nature cold, and with a high, though 
mistaken, sense of duty, his heart had been gradually 
hardened by the ascetic life which he pursued, the 
supreme power which he enjoyed, and the supposed 


456 


IVANHOE 


necessity of subduing- infidelity and eradicating heresy 
which he conceived pecuharly incumbent on him. His 
features relaxed in their usual severity as he gazed upon 
the beautiful creature before liim, alone, unfriended, 
and defending herself with so much spirit and courage. 
He crossed himself twice, as doubting whence arose the 
unwonted softening of a heart which on such occasions 
used to resemble in hardness the steel of his sword. At 
length he spoke. 

“Damsel,” he said, “if the pity I feel for thee arise 
from any practice thine evil arts have made on me, 
great is thy guilt. But I rather judge it the kinder 
feelings of nature, which grieves that so goodly a form 
should be a vessel of perdition. Repent, my daughter, 
confess thy witchcrafts, turn thee from thine evil faith, 
embrace this holy emblem, and all shall yet be well with 
thee here and hereafter. In some sisterhood of the 
strictest order shalt thou have time for prayer and 
fitting penance, and that repentance not to be repented 
of. This do and live : what has the law of Moses done 
for thee that thou shouldest die for it.?” 

“ It was the law of my fathers,” said Rebecca ; “ it 
was delivered in thunders and in storms upon the moun- 
tain of Sinai, in cloud and in fire. This, if ye are 
Christians, ye believe. It is, you say, recalled; but 
so my teachers have not taught me.” 

“ Let our chaplain,” said Beaumanoir, “ stand forth, 
and tell this obstinate infidel — ” 

“Forgive the interruption,” said Rebecca, meekly; 
“ I am a maiden, unskilled to dispute for my religion ; 
but I can die for it, if it be God’s will. Let me pray 
your answer to my demand of a champion.” 

“ Give me her glove,” said Beaumanoir. “ This is 
indeed,” he continued, as he looked at the flimsy texture 
and slender fingers, “ a slight and frail gage for a 
purpose so deadly ! Seest thou, Rebecca, as this thin 
and light glove of thine is to one of our heavy steel 


IVANHOE 


457 


gauntlets, so is thy cause to that of the Temple, for it 
is our order which thou hast defied.” 

“ Cast my innocence into the scale,” answered Re- 
becca, “ and the glove of silk shall outweigh the glove 
of iron.” 

“ Then thou dost persist in thy refusal to confess thy 
guilt, and in that bold challenge which thou hast 
made.f^ ” 

“ I do persist, noble sir,” answered Rebecca. 

“ So be it then, in the name of Heaven,” said the 
Grand Master ; “ and may God show the right ! ” 

“ Amen,” replied the preceptors around him, and the 
word was deeply echoed by the whole assembly. 

“ Brethren,” said Beaumanoir, “ you are aware that 
we might well have refused to this woman the benefit of 
the trial by combat; but, though a Jewess and an un- 
believer, she is also a stranger and defenceless, and God 
forbid that she should ask the benefit of our mild laws 
and that it should be refused to her. Moreover, we are 
knights and soldiers as well as men of religion, and 
shame it were to us, upon any pretence, to refuse prof- 
fered combat. Thus, therefore, stands the case. Re- 
becca, the daughter of Isaac of York, is, by many 
frequent and suspicious circumstances, defamed of sor- 
cery practised on the person of a noble knight of our 
holy order, and hath challenged the combat in proof 
of her innocence. To whom, reverend brethren, is it 
your opinion that we should deliver the gage of battle, 
naming him, at the same time, to be our champion on 
the field.?” 

“ To Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whom it chiefly con- 
cerns,” said the preceptor of Goodalricke, “ and who, 
moreover, best knows how the truth stands in this 
matter.” 

“But if,” said the Grand Master, “our brother 
Brian be under the influence of a charm or a spell — • 
we speak but for the sake of precaution, for to the arm 


458 


IVANHOE 


of none of our holy order would we more willingly con- 
fide this or a more weighty cause.” 

“Reverend father,” answered the preceptor of Good- i 
alricke, “ no spell can affect the champion who comes i 
forward to fight for the judgment of God.” 

“Thou sayest right, brother,” said the Grand Mas- | 
ter. “Albert Malvoisin, give this gage of battle to ' 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert. It is our charge to thee^ 
brother,” he continued, addressing himself to Bois- 
Guilbert, “that thou do thy battle manfully, nothing 3 
doubting that the good cause shall triumph. And do 
thou, Rebecca, attend, that we assign thee the third 
day from the present to find a champion.” ; 

“ That is but brief space,” answered Rebecca, “ for 
a stranger, who is also of another faith, to find one^ 
who will do battle, wagering life and honour for her 
cause, against a knight who is called an approved 
Soldier.” ! 

“We may not extend it,” answered the Grand Mas- 
ter ; “ the field must be foughten in our own presence, 
and divers weighty causes call us on the fourth day 
from hence.” ' 

“ God’s will be done ! ” said Rebecca ; “ I put my trust 
in Him, to whom an instant is as effectual to save as 
a whole age.” 

“ Thou hast spoken well, damsel,” said the Grand 
Master ; “ but well know we who can array himself like 
an angel of light. It remains but to name a fitting 
place of combat, and, if it so hap, also of execution. 
Where is the preceptor of this house .P” 

Albert Malvoisin, still holding Rebecca’s glove in 
his hand, was speaking to Bois-Guilbert very earnestly, 
but in a low voice. i 

“ How ! ”.said the Grand Master, “ will he not receive i 
the gage?” j 

“ He will — he doth, most reverend father,” said Mai- 1 
voisin, slipping the glove under his own mantle. “ And 1 


IVANHOE 


459 


for the place of combat, I hold the fittest to be the lists 
of St. George belonging to this preceptory, and used 
by us for military exercise.” 

“ It is well,” said the Grand Master. “ Rebecca, in 
those lists shalt thou produce thy champion ; and if 
thou failest to do so, or if thy champion shall be dis- 
comfited by the judgment of God, thou shalt then die 
the death of a sorceress, according to doom. Let this 
our judgment be recorded, and the record read aloud 
that no one may pretend ignorance.” 

One of the chaplains who acted as clerks to the chap- 
ter immediately engrossed the order in a huge vol- 
ume, which contained the proceedings of the Templar 
Knights when solemnly assembled on such occasions ; 
and when he had finished writing, the other read aloud 
the sentence of the Grand Master, which, when trans- 
lated from the Norman-French in which it was couched, 
was expressed as follows: — 

“Rebecca, a Jewess, daughter of Isaac of York, 
jbeing attainted of sorcery, seduction, and other damna- 
jble practices, practised on a knight of the most holy 
order of the Temple of Zion, doth deny the same, and 
saith that the testimony delivered against her this day 
is false, wicked, and disloyal ; and that by lawful essoine 
of her body, as being unable to combat in her own be- 
kalf, she doth offer, by a champion instead thereof, to 
lavouch her case, he performing his loyal devoir in all 
knightly sort, with such arms as to gage of battle do 
fully appertain, and that at her peril and cost. And 
' therewith she proffered her gage. And the gage hav- 
ing been delivered to the noble lord and knight, Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert, of the holy order of the Temple of 
Zion, he was appointed to do this battle in behalf of 
his order and himself, as injured and impaired by the 
practices of the appellant. Wherefore the most rever- 
|end father and puissant lord, Lucas Marquis of Beau- 
manoir, did allow of the said challenge, and of the said 


460 


IVANHOE 


essoine of the appellant’s body, and assigned the thirdi 
day for the said combat, the place being the enclosure 
called the lists of St. George, near to the preceptoryi 
of Templestowe. And the Grand Master appointed the' 
appellant to appear there by her champion, on pain ol 
doom, as a person convicted of sorcery or seduction :| 
and also the defendant so to appear, under the penalty 
of being held and adjudged recreant in case of default: 
and the noble lord and most reverend father aforesaid 
appointed the battle to be done in his own presence, and 
according to all that is commendable and profitable in 
such a case. And may God aid the just cause! ” 

“ Amen I ” said the Grand Master ; and the word was 
echoed by all around. Rebecca spoke not, but she 
looked up to Heaven, and, folding her hands, remained 
for a minute without change of attitude. She then 
modestly reminded the Grand Master that she ought 
to be permitted some opportunity of free communication 
with her friends, for the purpose of making her con- 
dition known to them, and procuring, if possible, some 
champion to fight in her behalf. 

“It is just and lawful,” said the Grand Master; 
“ choose what messenger thou shalt trust, and he shall 
have free communication with thee in thy prison- 
chamber.” 

“ Is there,” said Rebecca, “ any one here who, either 
for love of a good cause or for ample hire, will do the 
errand of a distressed being.?” 

All were silent ; for none thought it safe, in the pres- 
ence of the Grand Master, to avow any interest in the 
calumniated prisoner, lest he should be suspected of 
leaning towards Judaism. Not even the prospect of 
reward, far less any feelings of compassion alone, could 
surmount this apprehension. 

Rebecca stood for a few moments in indescribable 
anxiety, and then exclaimed, “ Is it really thus .? And 
in English land am I to be deprived of the poor chance 


IVANHOE 


461 


of safety which remains to me, for want of an act of 
charity wliich would not be refused to the worst 
criminal? ” 

Higg, the son of Snell, at length replied, “ I am but 
a maimed man, but that I can at all stir or move was 
owing to her charitable assistance. I will do thine er- 
rand,” he added, addressing Rebecca, “ as well as a 
crippled object can, and happy were my limbs fleet 
enough to repair the mischief done by my tongue. 
Alas ! when I boasted of thy charity^ I little thought I 
was leading thee into danger!” 

“ God,” said Rebecca, “ is the disposer of all. He 
can turn the captivity of Judah, even by the weakest 
instrument. To execute His message the snail is as 
sure a messenger as the falcon. Seek out Isaac of 
York — here is that will pay for horse and man — let 
him have this scroll. I know not if it be of Heaven the 
spirit which inspires me, but most truly do I judge that 
I am not to die this death, and that a champion will be 
raised up for me. Farewell I Life and death are in thy 
haste.” 

The peasant took the scroll, which contained only a 
few lines in Hebrew. Many of the crowd would have 
dissuaded him from touching a document so suspicious ; 
but Higg was resolute in the service of his benefactress. 
“ She had saved his body,” he said, “ and he was con- 
fident she did not mean to peril his soul.” 

“ I will get me,” he said, “ my neighbour Buthan’s 
good capul, and I will be at York within as brief space 
as man and beast may.” 

But, as it fortuned, he had no occasion to go so far, 
for within a quarter of a mile from the gate of the 
preceptory he met with two riders, whom, by their dress 
and their huge yellow caps, he knew to be Jews ; and, 
on approaching more nearly, discovered that one of 
them was his ancient employer, Isaac of York. The 
other was the Rabbi ben Samuel ; and both had 


4G2 


IVANHOE 


approached as near to the preceptory as they dared, 
on hearing that the Grand Master had summoned a 
chapter for the trial of a sorceress. 

“ Brother ben Samuel,” said Isaac, “ my soul is dis- 
quieted, and I wot not why. This charge of necromancy 
is right often used for cloaking evil practices on our 
people.” 

“ Be of good comfort, brother,” said the physician ; 
“thou canst deal with the Nazarenes as one possessing 
the mammon of unrighteousness, and canst therefore 
purchase immunity at their hands : it rules the savage 
minds of those ungodly men, even as the signet of the 
mighty Solomon was said to command the evil genii. 
But what poor wretch comes hither upon his crutches, 
desiring, as I think, some speech of me.?^ Friend,” con- 
tinued the physician, addressing Higg, the son of Snell, 
“ I refuse thee not the aid of mine art, but I relieve not | 
with one asper those who beg for alms upon the high- | 
way. Out upon thee ! Hast thou the palsy in thy legs ? ; 
then let thy hands work for thy livelihood ; for, albeit > 
thou be’st unfit for a speedy post, or for a careful J 
shepherd, or for the warfare, or for the service of a 
hasty master, yet there be occupations — How now, 
brother.?” said he, interrupting his harangue to look 
towards Isaac, who had but glanced at the scroll which 
Higg offered, when, uttering a deep groan, he fell from 
his mule like a dying man, and lay for a minute 
insensible. 

The Kabbi now dismounted in great alarm, and 
hastily applied the remedies which his art suggested 
for the recovery of his companion. He had even taken 
from his pocket a cupping apparatus, and was about 
to proceed to phlebotomy, when the object of his anx- 
ious solicitude suddenly revived ; but it was to dash his 
cap from his head, and to throw dust on his gray hairs. 
The physician was at first inclined to ascribe this sud- 
den and violent emotion to the effects of insanity ; and. 


IVANHOE 


463 


adhering to his original purpose, began once again to 
handle his implements. But Isaac soon convinced him 
of his error. 

“ Child of my sorrow,” he said, “ well shouldst thou 
be called Benoni, instead of Rebecca! Why should 
thy death bring down my gray hairs to the grave, 
till, in the bitterness of my heart, I curse God and 
die ! ” 

“ Brother,” said the Rabbi, in great surprise, art 
thou a father in Israel, and dost thou utter words like 
unto these I trust that the child of thy house yet 
liveth.f^ ” 

“ She liveth,” answered Isaac ; “ but it is as Daniel, 
who was called Belteshazzar, even when within the den 
of the lions. She is captive unto those men of Belial, 
and they will wreak their cruelty upon her, sparing 
neither for her youth nor her comely favour. O 1 she 
was as a crown of green palms to my gray locks ; and 
she must wither in a night, like the gourd of Jonah! 
Child of my love ! — child of my old age ! — oh, Re- 
becca, daughter of Rachael ! the darkness of the shadow 
of death hath encompassed thee.” 

“Yet read the scroll,” said the Rabbi; “peradven- 
ture it may be that we may yet find out a way of 
deliverance.” 

“ Do thou read, brother,” answered Isaac, “ for mine 
eyes are as a fountain of water.” 

The physician read, but in their native language, 
the following words : — 

“ To Isaac, the son of Adonikam, whom the Gentiles 
call Isaac of York, peace and the blessing of the prom- 
ise be multiplied unto thee! My father, I am as one 
doomed to die for that which my soul knoweth not, even 
for the crime of witchcraft. My father, if a strong 
man can be found to do battle for my cause with sword 
and spear, according to the custom of the Nazarenes, 
and that within the lists of Templestowe, on the third 


464 


IVANHOE 


day from this time, peradventure our fathers’ God will 
give him strength to defend the innocent, and her who 
hath none to help her. But if this may not be, let the 
virgins of our people mourn for me as for one cast off. 
and for the hart that is stricken by the hunter, and foi 
the flower which is cut down by the scythe of the mower. 
Wherefore look now what thou doest, and whether there 
be any rescue. One Nazarene warrior might indeed beai 
arms in my behalf, even Wilfred, son of Cedric, whon 
the Gentiles call Ivanhoe. But he may not yet endure 
the weight of his armour. Nevertheless, send the tid- 
ings unto him, my father; for he hath favour among 
the strong men of his people, and as he was our com-; 
panion in the house of bondage, he may find some one 
to do battle for my sake. And say unto him — ever 
unto him — even unto Wilfred, the son of Cedric, thalj 
if Rebecca live, or if Rebecca die, she liveth or diett 
wholly free of the guilt she is charged withal. Anc 
if it be the will of God that thou shalt be deprived oJ 
thy daughter, do not thou tarry, old man, in this lane 
of bloodshed and cruelty ; but betake thyself to Cor 
dova, where thy brother liveth in safety, under th( 
shadow of the throne, even of the throne of Boabdil the 
Saracen; for less cruel are the cruelties of the Moor} 
unto the race of Jacob than the cruelties of the Naza 
renes of England.” 

Isaac listened with tolerable composure while Bei 
Samuel read the letter and then again resumed th( 
gestures and exclamations of Oriental sorrow, tearing 
his garments, besprinkling his head with dust, anc 
ej aculating, “ My daughter ! my daughter ! flesh o; 
my flesh, and bone of my bone!” 

“Yet,” said the Rabbi, “take courage, for this grie: 
availeth nothing. Gird up thy loins, and seek out thi: 
Wilfred, the son of Cedric. It may be he will hel| 
thee with counsel or with strength ; for the youth hatl 
favour in the eyes of Richard, called of the Nazarene: 


IVANHOE 


465 


Coeur-de-Lion, and the tidings that he hath returned 
are constant in the land. It may be that he may obtain 
his letter, and his signet, commanding these men of 
blood, who take their name from the Temple to the dis- 
honour thereof, that they proceed not in their purposed 
wickedness.” 

“ I will seek him out,” said Isaac, “ for he is a good 
youth, and hath compassion for the exile of Jacob. But 
he cannot bear his armour, and what other Christian 
shall do battle for the oppressed of Zion.?^” 

“Nay, but,” said the Rabbi, “thou speakest as one 
that knoweth not the Gentiles. With gold shalt thou 
buy their valour, even as with gold thou buyest thine 
own safety. Be of good courage, and do thou set for- 
ward to find out this Wilfred of Ivanhoe. I will also 
up and be doing, for great sin it were to leave thee in 
thy calamity. I will hie me to the city of York, where 
many warriors and strong men are assembled, and 
doubt not I will find among them some one who will do 
battle for thy daughter; for gold is their god, and 
for riches will they pawn their lives as well as their 
lands. Thou wilt fulfil, my brother, such promise as 
I may make unto them in thy name?” 

“ Assuredly, brother,” said Isaac, “ and Heaven be 
praised that raised me up a comforter in my misery! 
Howbeit, grant them not their full demand at once, for 
thou shalt find it the quality of this accursed people 
that they will ask pounds, and peradventure accept of 
ounces. Nevertheless, be it as thou wiliest, for I am 
distracted in this thing, and what would my gold avail 
me if the child of my love should perish!” 

“Farewell,” said the physician, “and may it be to 
thee as thy heart desireth.” 

They embraced accordingly, and departed on their 
several roads. The crippled peasant remained for some 
time looking after them. 

“ These dog Jews ! ” said he ; “ to take no more notice 
30 


466 


IVANHOE 


of a free guild-brother than if I were a bond slave or 
a Turk, or a circumcised Hebrew like themselves ! They 
might have flung me a mancus or two, however. I was 
not obliged to bring their unhallowed scrawls, and run 
the risk of being bewitched, as more folks than one told 
me. And what care I for the bit of gold that the 
wench gave me, if I am to come to harm from the priest 
next Easter at confession, and be obliged to give him 
twice as much to make it up with him, and be called the 
Jew’s flying post all my life, as it may hap, into the 
bargain I think I was bewitched in earnest when I 
was beside the girl! But it was always so with Jew or 
Gentile, whosoever came near her: none could stay 
when she had an errand to go; and still, whenever I 
think of her, I would give shop and tools to save her 
life.” 


CHAPTER XXXIX 

X / / / f 

O maid, unrelenting and, cold as thou art, 

My bosom is proud as' thine own' 

Seward. 

I T was in the twilight of the day when her trial, if 
it could be called such, had taken place, that a low 
knock was heard at the door of Rebecca’s prison- 
chamber. It disturbed not the inmate, who was then 
engaged in the evening prayer recommended by her 
religion, and which concluded with a hymn we have 
ventured thus to translate into English: — 

When Israel, of the Lord beloved. 

Out of the land of bondage came. 

Her fathers’ God before her moved. 

An awful guide, in smoke and flame. 

By day, along the astonish’d lands 
The cloudy pillar glided slow; 

By night, Arabia’s crimson’d sands 
Return’d the fiery column’s glow. 


IVANHOE 


467 


There rose the choral hymn of praise, 

And trump and timbrel answer’d keen 

And Zion’s daughters pour’d their lays. 

With priest’s and warrior’s voice between. 

No portents now our foes amaze. 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone; 

Our fathers would not know Thy ways. 
And Thou hast left them to their own. 

But, present still, though now unseen. 

When brightly shines the prosperous day 

Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen 
To temper the deceitful ray. 

And oh, when stoops on Judah’s path 
In shade and storm the frequent night, 

Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, . 

A burning and a shining light! 

Our harps we left by Babel’s streams. 

The tyrant’s jest, the Gentile’s scorn; 

No censer round our altar beams, 

And mute our timbrel, trump, and horn. 

But Thou hast said, the blood of goat. 

The flesh of rams, I will not prize; 

A contrite heart, an humble thought, 

Are Mine accepted sacrifice. 


Wlien the sounds of Rebecca’s devotional hymn had 
died away in silence, the low knock at the door was 
again renewed. “Enter,” she said, “if thou art a 
friend; and if a foe, I have not the means of refusing 
thy entrance.” 

“ I am,” said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, entering the 
apartment, “ friend or foe, Rebecca, as the event of this 
interview shall make me.” 

Alarmed at the sight of this man, whose licentious 
passion she considered as the root of her misfortunes, 
Rebecca drew backward with a cautious and alarmed, 
yet not a timorous, demeanour into the farthest corner 
of the apartment, as if determined to retreat as far as 
she could, but to stand her ground when retreat be- 
came no longer possible. She drew herself into an atti- 
tude not of defiance, but of resolution, as one that would 


468 


IVANHOE 


avoid provoking assault, yet was resolute to repel it, 
being offered, to the utmost of her power. 

“ You have no reason to fear me, Rebecca,” said the 
Templar ; “ or, if I must so qualify my speech, you have 
at least now no reason to fear me.” 

“ I fear you not. Sir Knight,” replied Rebecca, al- 
though her short-drawn breath seemed to belie the hero- 
ism of her accents ; “ my trust is strong, and I fear thee 
not.” 

“You have no cause,” answered Bois-Guilbert, 
gravely ; “ my former frantic attempts you have not 
now to dread. Within your call are guards over whom 
I have no authority. They are designed to conduct 
you to death, Rebecca, yet would not suffer you to be 
insulted by any one, even by me, were my frenzy — for 
frenzy it is — to urge me so far.” 

“ May Heaven be praised! ” said the Jewess ; “ death 
is the least of my apprehensions in this den of evil.” 

“ Ay,” replied the Templar, “ the idea of death is 
easily received by the courageous mind, when the road 
to it is sudden and open. A thrust with a lance, a stroke 
with a sword, were to me little; to you, a spring from 
a dizzy battlement, a stroke with a sharp poniard, has 
no terrors, compared with what either thinks disgrace. 
Mark me — I say this — perhaps mine own sentiments 
of honour are not less fantastic, Rebecca, than thine 
are; but we know alike how to die for them.” 

“ Unhappy man,” said the Jewess ; “ and art thou 
condemned to expose thy life for principles of which thy 
sober judgment does not acknowledge the solidity.'^ 
Surely this is a parting with your treasure for that 
which is not bread. But deem not so of me. Thy 
resolution may fluctuate on the wild and changeful bil- 
lows of human opinion: but mine is anchored on the 
Rock of Ages.” 

“ Silence, maiden,” answered the Templar ; “ such 
discourse now avails but little. Thou art condemned 


IVANHOE 


469 


to die not a sudden and easy death, such as misery 
chooses and despair welcomes, but a slow, wretched, 
protracted course of torture, suited to what the dia- 
bolical bigotry of these men calls thy crime.” 

“And to whom — if such my fate — to whom do I 
owe this ” said Rebecca ; “ surely only to him who, for 
a most selfish and brutal cause, dragged me hither, 
and who now, for some unknown purpose of his own, 
strives to exaggerate the wretched fate to which he 
exposed me.” 

“ Think not,” said the Templar, “ that I have so 
exposed thee; I would have bucklered thee against 
such danger with my own bosom, as freely as ever I 
exposed it to the shafts which had otherwise reached 
thy life.” 

“Had thy purpose been the honourable protection 
of the innocent,” said Rebecca, “ I had thanked thee 
for thy care ; as it is, thou hast claimed merit for it so 
often that I tell thee life is worth nothing to me, pre- 
served at the price which thou wouldst exact for it.” 

“ Truce with thine upbraidings, Rebecca,” said the 
Templar ; “ I have my own cause of grief, and brook 
not that thy reproaches should add to it.” 

“What is thy purpose, then. Sir Knight said the 
Jewess ; “ speak it briefly. If thou hast aught to do 
save to witness the misery thou hast caused, let me know 
it; and then, if so it please you, leave me to myself. 
The step between time and eternity is short but terrible, 
and I have few moments to prepare for it.” 

“ I perceive, Rebecca,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ that thou 
dost continue to burden me with the charge of distresses 
which most fain would I have prevented.” 

“ Sir Knight,” said Rebecca, “ I would avoid re- 
proaches ; but what is more certain than that I owe my 
■death to thine unbridled passion.?” 

“You err — you err,” said the Templar, hastily, 
i“ if you impute what I could neither foresee nor prevent 


470 


IVANHOE 


to my purpose or agency. Could I guess the unex- 
pected arrival of yon dotard, whom some flashes of 
frantic valour, and the praises yielded by fools to the 
stupid self-torments of an ascetic, have raised for the 
present above his own merits, above common sense, above 
me, and above the hundreds of our order who think and 
feel as men free from such silly and fantastic prejudices 
as are the grounds of his opinions and actions ? ” 

“Yet,” said Rebecca, “you sat a judge upon me; 
innocent — most innocent — as you knew me to be, you 
concurred in my condemnation ; and, if I aright under- 
stood, are yourself to appear in arms to assert my 
guilt, and assure my punishment.” 

“ Thy patience, maiden,” replied the Templar. “No 
race knows so well as thine own tribes how to submit 
to the time, and so to trim their bark as to make ad- 
vantage even of an adverse wind.” 

“Lamented be the hour,” said Rebecca, “that has 
taught such art to the House of Israel ! but adversity 
bends the heart as fire bends the stubborn steel, and 
those who are no longer their own governors, and the 
denizens of their own free independent state, must I 
crouch before strangers. It is our curse. Sir Knight, 
deserved, doubtless, by our own misdeeds and those of I 
our fathers; but you — you who boast your freedom I 
as your birthright, how much deeper is your disgrace 
when you stoop to soothe the prejudices of others, and ! 
that against your own conviction ? ” I 

“Your words are bitter, Rebecca,” said Bois-Guil- 
bert, pacing the apartment with impatience, “but I 
came not hither to bandy reproaches with you. Know 
that Bois-Guilbert yields not to created man, although 
circumstances may for a time induce him to alter his j 
plan. His will is the mountain stream, which may in- i 
deed be turned for a little space aside by the rock, but j 
fails not to find its course to the ocean. That scroll | 
which warned thee to demand a champion, from whom | 


IVANHOE 


471 


couldst thou think it came, if not from Bois-Guilbert ? 
In whom else couldst thou have excited such interest?” 

“A brief respite from instant death,” said Rebecca, 
‘‘which will little avail me. Was this all thou couldst 
do for one on whose head thou hast heaped sorrow, and 
whom thou hast brought near even to the versre of the 
tomb ? ” 

“No, maiden,” said Bois-Guilbert, “this was Tiot all 
that I purposed. Had it not been for the accursed in- 
terference of yon fanatical dotard, and the fool of 
Goodalricke, who, being a Templar, affects to think 
and judge according to the ordinary rules of humanity, 
the office of the champion defender had devolved, not 
on a preceptor, but on a companion of the order. Then 
I myself — such was my purpose — had, on the sound- 
ing of the trumpet, appeared in the lists as thy cham- 
pion, disguised indeed in the fashion of a roving knight, 
who seeks adventures to prove his shield and spear; 
and then, let Beaumanoir have chosen not one but two 
or three of the brethren here assembled, I had not 
doubted to cast them out of the saddle with my single 
lance. Thus, Rebecca, should thine innocence have 
been avouched, and to thine own gratitude would I have 
trusted for the reward of my victory.” 

“ This, Sir Knight,” said Rebecca, “ is but idle boast- 
ing — a brag of what you would have done had you 
not found it convenient to do otherwise. You received 
my glove, and my champion, if a creature so desolate 
can find one, must encounter your lance in the lists; 
yet you would assume the air of my friend and 
protector ! ” 

“Thy friend and protector,” said the Templar, 
gravely, “I will yet be; but mark at what risk, or 
rather at what certainty, of dishonour ; and then blame 
me not if I make my stipulations before I offer up all 
that I have hitherto held dear, to save the life of a 
Jewish maiden.” 


472 


IVANHOE 


‘‘ Speak,” said Rebecca ; “ I understand thee not.” 

“Well, then,” said Bois-Guilbert, “I will speak as 
freely as ever did doting penitent to his ghostly father, 
when placed in the tricky confessional. Rebecca, if 
I appear not in these lists I lose fame and rank — lose 
that which is the breath of my nostrils, the esteem, I 
mean, in which I am held by my brethren, and the hopes 
I have of succeeding to that mighty authority which 
is now wielded by the bigoted dotard Lucas de Beau- 
manoir, but of which I should make a far different use. 
Such is my certain doom, except I appear in arms 
against thy cause. Accursed be he of Goodalricke, who 
baited this trap for me ! and doubly accursed Albert de 
Malvoisin, who withheld me from the resolution I had 
formed of hurling back the glove at the face of the 
superstitious and superannuated fool who listened to 
a charge so absurd, and against a creature so high in 
mind and so lovely in form as thou art!” 

“ And what now avails rant or flattery ? ” answered 
Rebecca. “Thou hast made thy choice between caus- 
ing to be shed the blood of an innocent woman, or 
of endangering thine own earthly state and earthly 
hopes. What avails it to reckon together.^ thy choice 
is made.” 

“ No, Rebecca,” said the knight, in a softer tone, 
and drawing nearer towards her, “my choice is not 
made ; nay, mark, it is thine to make the election. If 
I appear in the lists, I must maintain my name in arms ; 
and if I do so, championed or unchampioned, thou dies! 
by the stake and faggot, for there lives not the knight 
who hath coped with me in arms on equal issue or on 
terms of vantage, save Richard Coeur-de-Lion and his 
minion of Ivanhoe. Ivanhoe, as thou well knowest, is 
unable to bear his corslet, and Richard is in a foreign 
prison. If I appear, then thou diest, even although 
thy charms should instigate some hot-headed youth to 
enter the lists in thy defence.” 


IVANHOE 


473 




“And what avails repeating this so often?” said 
Rebecca. 

“ Much,” replied the Templar ; “ for thou must learn 
to look at thy fate on every side.” 

“Well, then, turn the tapestry,” said the Jewess, 

1 “ and let me see the other side.” 

“ If I appear,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ in the fatal lists, 
thou diest by a slow and cruel death, in pain such as 
they say is destined to the guilty hereafter. But if I 
appear not, then am I a degraded and dishonoured 

I knight, accused of witchcraft and of communion with 
infidels : the illustrious name which has grown yet more 
so under my wearing becomes a hissing and a reproach. 
I lose fame — I lose honour — I lose the prospect of 
I such greatness as scarce emperors attain to ; I sacri- 
fice mighty ambition — I destroy schemes built as high 
as the mountains with which heathen say their heaven 
was once nearly scaled; and yet, Rebecca,” he added, 
throwing himself at her feet, “this greatness will I 
sacrifice — this fame will I renounce — this power will 
I forego, even now when it is half within my grasp, if 
thou wilt say, ‘ Bois-Guilbert, I receive thee for my 
lover.’ ” 

“ Think not of such foolishness. Sir Knight,” an- 
swered Rebecca, “but hasten to the Regent, the Queen 
Mother, and to Prince John ; they cannot, in honour 
to the English crown, allow of the proceedings of your 
Grand Master. So shall you give me protection with- 
out sacrifice on your part, or the pretext of requiring 
' any requital from me.” 

“With these I deal not,” he continued, holding the 
train of her robe — “ it is thee only I address ; and 
! what can counterbalance thy choice? Bethink thee, 

! were I a fiend, yet death is a worse, and it is death who 
is my rival.” 

“ I weigh not these evils,” said Rebecca, afraid to 
provoke the wild knight, yet equally determined neither 


474 


IVANHOE 


to endure his passion nor even feign to endure it. “ B6 
a man, be a Christian ! If indeed thy faith recommends' 
that mercy which rather your tongues than your ac- 
tions pretend, save me from this dreadful death, without! 
seeking a requital which would change thy magnanim- 
ity into base barter.” 

“No, damsel!” said the proud Templar, springing 
up, “ thou shalt not thus impose on me : if I renounce 
present fame and future ambition, I renounce it for 
thy sake, and we will escape in company. Listen to 
me, Rebecca,” he said, again softening his tone ; “ Eng- 
land — Europe — is not the world. There are spheresj 
in which we may act, ample enough even for my ambi- 
tion. We will go to Palestine, where Conrade Marquis: 
of Montserrat is my friend — a friend free as myself 
from the doting scruples which fetter our free-bomi 
reason: rather with Saladin will we league ourselves 
than endure the scorn of the bigots whom we contemn. 
I will form new paths to greatness,” he continued, again 1 
traversing the room with hasty strides ; “ Europe shall 
hear the loud step of him she has driven from her sons ! 
Not the millions whom her crusaders send to slaughter 
can do so much to defend Palestine ; not the sabres of 
the thousands and ten thousands of Saracens can hew 
their way so deep into that land for which nations are 
striving, as the strength and policy of me and those 
brethren who, in despite of yonder old bigot, will ad- 
here to me in good and evil. Thou shalt be a queen, 
Rebecca: on Mount Carmel shall we pitch the throne 
which my valour will gain for you, and I will exchange 
my long-desired batoon for a sceptre 1 ” 

“ A dream,” said Rebecca — “ an empty vision of the 
night, which, were it a waking reality, affects me not. 
Enough, that the power which thou mightest acquire 
I will never share; nor hold I so light of country or 
religious faith as to esteem him who is willing to barter 
these ties, and cast away the bonds of the order of which 


IVANHOE 


475 


he is a sworn member, in order to gratify an unruly 
passion for the daughter of another people. Put not 
a price on my deliverance, Sir Knight — sell not a deed 
of generosity — protect the oppressed for the sake of 
charity, and not for a selfish advantage. Go to the 
throne of England; Richard will listen to my appeal 
from these cruel men.” 

‘‘Never, Rebecca!” said the Templar, fiercely. “If 
I renounce my order, for thee alone will I renounce it. 
Ambition shall remain mine, if thou refuse my love; 
I will not be fooled on all hands. Stoop my crest to 
Richard .P — ask a boon of that heart of pride Never, 
Rebecca, will I place the order of the Temple at his 
feet in my person. I may forsake the order; I never 
will degrade or betray it.” 

“Now God be gracious to me,” said Rebecca, “for 
the succour of man is wellnigh hopeless 1 ” 

“ It is indeed,” said the Templar ; “ for, proud as 
thou art, thou hast in me found thy match. If I enter 
the lists with my spear in rest, think not any human 
consideration shall prevent my putting forth my 
strength; and think then upon thine own fate — to 
die the dreadful death of the worst of criminals — to 
be consumed upon a blazing pile — dispersed to the 
elements of which our strange forms are so mystically 
composed — not a relic left of that graceful frame, 
from which we could say this lived and moved! Re- 
becca, it is not in woman to sustain this prospect — 
thou wilt yield to my suit.” 

“ Bois-Guilbert,” answered the Jewess, “thou know- 
! est not the heart of woman, or hast only conversed 
I with those who are lost to her best feelings. I tell thee, 
1 proud Templar, that not in thy fiercest battles hast 
I thou displayed more of thy vaunted courage than has 
ibeen shown by woman when called upon to suffer by 
j affection or duty. I am myself a woman, tenderly 
nurtured, naturally fearful of danger, and impatient of 


476 


IVANHOE 


pain ; yet, when we enter those fatal lists, thou to fight 
and I to suffer, 1 feel the strong assurance within me that 
my courage shall mount higher than thine. Farewell. 
I waste no more words on thee ; the time that remains 
on earth to the daughter of Jacob must be otherwise 
spent: she must seek the Comforter, who may hide His 
face from His people, but who ever opens His ear to the 
cry of those who seek Him in sincerity and in truth.” 

“We part then thus.^” said the Templar, after a 
short pause; “would to Heaven we had never met, or 
that thou hadst been noble in birth and Christian in 
faith! Nay, by Heaven! when I gaze on thee, and 
think when and how we are next to meet, I could even 
wish myself one of thine own degraded nation; my 
hand conversant with ingots and shekels, instead of 
spear and shield ; my head bent down before each petty 
noble, and my look, only terrible to the shivering and 
bankrupt debtor — this could I wish, Rebecca, to be 
near to thee in life, and to escape the fearful share I 
must have in thy death.” 

“ Thou hast spoken the Jew,” said Rebecca, “ as the 
persecution of such as thou art has made him. Heaven 
in ire has driven him from his country, but industry 
has opened to him the only road to power and to in- 
fluence which oppression has left unbarred. Read the 
ancient history of the people of God, and tell me if 
those by whom Jehovah wrought such marvels among 
the nations were then a people of misers and usurers! 
And know, proud knight, we number names amongst 
us to which your boasted northern nobility is as the 
gourd compared with the cedar — names that ascend 
far back to those high times when the Divine Presence 
shook the mercy-seat between the cherubim, and which 
derive their splendour from no earthly prince, but from 
the awful Voice which bade their fathers be nearest of 
the congregation to the Vision. Such were the princes 
of the House of Jacob.” 


IVANHOE 


477 


Rebecca’s colour rose as she boasted the ancient 
glories of her race, but faded as she added, with a sigh, 
“ Such were the princes of Judah, now such no more ! 
They are trampled down like the shorn grass, and 
mixed with the' mire of the ways. Yet there are those 
among them who shame not such high descent, and of 
such shall be the daughter of Isaac the son of Adoni- 
kam! Farewell! I envy not thy blood-won honours; 
I envy not thy barbarous descent from Northern 
heathens; I envy thee not thy faith, which is ever in 
thy mouth but never in thy heart nor in thy practice.” 

“ There is a spell on me, by Heaven 1 ” said Bois- 
Guilbert. “ I almost think yon besotted skeleton spoke 
truth, and that the reluctance with which I part from 
thee hath something in it more than is natural. Fair 
j creature!” he said, approaching near her, but with 
great respect, ‘‘ so young, so beautiful, so fearless of 
death! and yet doomed to die, and with infamy and 
agony. Who would not weep for thee.? The tear, that 
has been a stranger to these eyelids for twenty years, 
moistens them as I gaze on thee. But it must be — 
nothing may now save thy life. Thou and I are but 
the blind instruments of some irresistible fatality, that 
hurries us along, like goodly vessels driving before the 
storm, which are dashed against each other, and so 
perish. Forgive me, then, and let us part at least as 
friends part. I have assailed thy resolution in vain, and 
mine own is fixed as the adamantine decrees of fate.” 

“ Thus,” said Rebecca, “ do men throw on fate the 
* issue of their own wild passions. But I do forgive thee, 
! Bois-Guilbert, though the author of my early death. 

' There are noble things which cross over thy powerful 
Imind; but it is the garden of the sluggard, and the 
I weeds have rushed up, and conspired to choke the fair 
^ and wholesome blossom.” 

jj “Yes,” said the Templar, “I am, Rebecca, as thou 
hast spoken me, untaught, untamed; and proud that, 


478 


IVANHOE 


amidst a shoal of empty fools and crafty bigots, I have 
retained the preeminent fortitude that places me above ; 
them. I have been a child of battle from my youth 
upward, high in my views, steady and inflexible in j 
pursuing them. Such must I remain proud, inflex- , 
ible, and unchanging; and of this the world shall have 
proof. But thou forgivest me, Rebecca.?” ! 

“ As freely as ever victim forgave her executioner.” 

“Farewell, then,” said the Templar, and left the 
apartment. 

The preceptor Albert waited impatiently in an ad- 
jacent chamber the return of Bois-Guilbert. 

“ Thou hast tarried long,” he said ; “ I have been 
as if stretched on red-hot iron with very impatience. 
What if the Grand Master, or his spy Conrade, had 
come hither? I had paid dear for my complaisance. 
But what ails thee, brother? Thy step totters, thy brow 
is as black as night. Art thou well, Bois-Guilbert? ” 

“ Ay,” answered the Templar, “ as well as the wretch 
who is doomed to die within an hour. Nay, by the 
rood, not half so well; for there be those in such state 
who can lay down life like a cast-off garment. By 
Heaven, Malvoisin, yonder girl hath wellnigh un- 
manned me. I am half resolved to go to the Grand 
Master, abjure the order to his very teeth, and refuse 
to act the brutality which his tyranny has imposed 
on me.” 

“ Thou art mad,” answered Malvoisin ; “ thou mayest 
thus indeed utterly ruin thyself, but canst not even find 
a chance thereby to save the life of this Jewess, which 
seems so precious in thine eyes. Beaumanoir will name 
another of the order to defend his judgment in thy 
place, and the accused will as assuredly perish as if 
thou hadst taken the duty imposed on thee.” 

“ ’T is false ; I will myself take arms in her behalf,” 
answered the Templar, haughtily ; “ and should I do 
so, I think, Malvoisin, that thou knowest not one of the 


IVANHOE 479 

order who will keep his saddle before the point of my 
lance.” 

“ Ay, but thou forgettest,” said the wily adviser, 
“ thou wilt have neither leisure nor opportunity to exe- 
cute this mad project. Go to Lucas Beaumanoir and 
say thou hast renounced thy vow of obedience, and see 
how long the despotic old man will leave thee in personal 
freedom. The words shall scarce have left thy lips, 
ere thou wilt either be an hundred feet under ground, 
in the dungeon of the preceptory, to abide trial as a 
recreant knight; or, if his opinion holds concerning 
tby possession, thou wilt be enjoying straw, darkness, 
and chains in some distant convent cell, stunned with 
exorcisms, and drenched with holy water, to expel the 
foul fiend which hath obtained dominion over thee. 
Thou must to the lists, Brian, or thou art a lost and 
dishonoured man.” 

“I will break forth and fly,” said Bois-Guilbert — 
“ fly to some distant land, to which folly and fanaticism 
have not yet found their way. No drop of the blood of 
this most excellent creature shall be spilled by my 
sanction.” 

“Thou canst not fly,” said the preceptor: “thy rav- 
ings have excited suspicion, and thou wilt not be per- 
mitted to leave the preceptory. Go and make the 
essay: present thyself before the gate, and command 
the bridge to be lowered, and mark what answer thou 
shalt receive. Thou art surprised and offended; but 
is it not the better for thee.?^ Wert thou to fly, what 
'would ensue but the reversal of thy arms, the dishonour 
of thine ancestry, the degradation of thy rank.? Think 
on it. Where shall thine old companions in arms hide 
their heads when Brian de Bois-Guilbert, the best lance 
of the Templars, is proclaimed recreant, amid the hisses 
of the assembled people.? What grief will be at the 
Court of France! With what joy will the haughty 
Richard hear the news, that the knight that set liim 


480 


rVANHOE 


hard in Palestine, and wellnigh darkened his renjown 
has lost fame and honour for a Jewish girl, whom h( 
could not even save by so costly a sacrifice!” 

“ Malvoisin,” said the Knight, “ I thank thee — 
thou hast touched the string at which my heart mosi 
readily thrills ! Come of it what may, recreant shal 
never be added to the name of Bois-Guilbert. Woulc 
to God, Richard, or any of his vaunting minions oi 
England, would appear in these lists! But they wil. 
be empty — no one will risk to break a lance for th( 
innocent, the forlorn.” 

“ The better for thee, if it prove so,” said the precep- 
tor; “if no champion appears, it is not by thy means 
that this unlucky damsel shall die, but by the doom 
of the Grand Master, with whom rests all the blame, 
and who will count that blame for praise and 
commendation.” 

“True,” said Bois-Guilbert; “if no champion ap- 
pears, I am but a part of the pageant, sitting indeed' 
on horseback in the lists, but having no part in what 
is to follow.” 

“None whatever,” said Malvoisin — “no more than 
the armed image of St. George when it makes parti 
of a procession.” 

“Well, I will resume my resolution,” replied the 
haughty Templar. “ She has despised me — repulsed 
me — reviled me; and wherefore should I offer up foi 
her whatever of estimation I have in the opinion of 
others .P Malvoisin, I will appear in the lists.” 

He left the apartment hastily as he uttered these 
words, and the preceptor followed, to watch and con- 
firm him in his resolution ; for in Bois-Guilbert’s fame 
he had himself a strong interest, expecting much ad- 
vantage from his being one day at the head of the 
order, not to mention the preferment of which Mont- 
Fitchet had given him hopes, on condition he would 
forward the condemnation of the unfortunate Rebecca. 


IVANHOE 


481 


Yet although, in combating his friend’s better feelings, 
he possessed all the advantage which a wily, composed, 
selfish disposition has over a man agitated by strong 
and contending passions, it required all Malvoisin’s 
art to keep Bois-Guilbert steady to the purpose he had 
prevailed on him to adopt. He was obliged to watch 
him closely to prevent his resuming his purpose of 
flight, to intercept his communication with the Grand 
Master, lest he should come to an open rupture with 
his superior, and to renew, from time to time, the vari- 
ous arguments by which he endeavoured to show that, 
in appearing as champion, on this occasion, Bois-Guil- 
bert, without either accelerating or ensuring the fate 
of Rebecca, would follow the only course by which he 
could save himself from degradation and disgrace. 


CHAPTER XL 


Shadows avaunt! — Richard ’s himself again. 

Richard III. 

W HEN the Black Knight — for it becomes 
necessary to resume the train of his adven- 
tures — left the trysting-tree of the gener- 
ous outlaw, he held his way straight to a neighbouring 
religious house, of small extent and revenue, called the 
priory of St. Botolph, to which the wounded Ivanhoe 
had been removed when the castle was taken, under the 
guidance of the faithful Gurth and the magnanimous 
Wamba. It is unnecessary at present to mention what 
took place in the interim betwixt Wilfred and his de- 
liverer ; suffice it to say that, after long and grave 
communication, messengers were despatched by the 
prior in several directions, and that on the succeeding 

morning the Black Knight was about to set forth on 

31 


482 


IVANHOE 


his journey, accompanied by the jester, Wamba, who 
attended as his guide. 

‘‘We will meet,” he said to Ivanhoe, “at Conings- 
burgh, the castle of the deceased Athelstane, since there 
thy father Cedric holds the funeral feast for his noble 
relation. I would see your Saxon kindred together. 
Sir Wilfred, and become better acquainted with them 
than heretofore. Thou also wilt meet me ; and it shall 
be my task to reconcile thee to thy father.” 

So saying, he took an affectionate farewell of Ivan- 
hoe, who expressed an anxious desire to attend upon 
his deliverer. But the Black Knight would not listen 
to the proposal. 

“ Rest this day ; thou wilt have scarce strength 
enough to travel on the next. I will have no guide 
with me but honest Wamba, who can play priest or 
fool as I shall be most in the humour.” 

“And I,” said Wamba, “will attend you with all 
my heart. I would fain see the feasting at the funeral 
of Athelstane; for, if it be not full and frequent, he 
will rise from the dead to rebuke cook, sewer, and cup- 
bearer; and that were a sight worth seeing. Always, 
Sir Knight, I will trust your valour with making my 
excuse to my master Cedric, in case mine own wit should 
fail.” 

“ And how should my poor valour succeed, Sir J ester, 
when thy light wit halts? resolve me that.” 

“Wit, Sir Knight,” replied the Jester, “may do 
much. He is a quick, apprehensive knave, who sees his 
neighbour’s blind side, and knows how to keep the lee- 
gage when his passions are blowing high. But valour 
is a sturdy fellow, that makes all split. He rows against 
both wind and tide, and makes way notwithstanding; 
and, therefore, good Sir Knight, while I take advan- 
tage of the fair weather in our noble master’s temper, I 
will expect you to bestir yourself when it grows rough.” 

“ Sir Knight of the Fetterlock, since it is your pleasure 


IVANHOE 


483 


so to be distinguished,” said Ivanhoe, “ I fear me you 
have chosen a talkative and a troublesome fool to be 
your guide. But he knows every path and alley in 
the woods as well as e’er a hunter who frequents them ; 
and the poor knave, as thou hast partly seen, is as faith- 
ful as steel.” 

“Nay,” said the Knight, “an he have the gift of 
showing my road, I shall not grumble with him that he 
desires to make it pleasant. Fare thee well, kind Wil- 
fred; I charge thee not to attempt to travel till to- 
morrow at earliest.” 

So saying, he extended his hand to Ivanhoe, who 
pressed it to his lips, took leave of the prior, mounted 
his horse, and departed, with Wamba for his com- 
panion. Ivanhoe followed them with his eyes until they 
were lost in the shades of the surrounding forest, and 
then returned into the convent. 

But shortly after matin-song he requested to see the 
prior. The old man came in haste, and inquired anx- 
iously after the state of his health. 

“ It is better,” he said, “ than my fondest hope could 
have anticipated; either my wound has been slighter 
than the effusion of blood led me to suppose, or this 
balsam hath wrought a wonderful cure upon it. I feel 
already as if I could bear my corslet ; and so much the 
better, for thoughts pass in my mind which render me 
unwilling to remain here longer in inactivity.” 

“ Now, the saints forbid,” said the prior, “ that the 
' son of the Saxon Cedric should leave our convent ere 
his wounds were healed ! It were shame to our profes- 
sion were we to suffer it.” 

“ Nor w'ould I desire to leave your hospitable roof, 
venerable father,” said Ivanhoe, “ did I not feel myself 
able to endure the j ourney , and compelled to under- 
take it.” 

“ And what can have urged you to so sudden a 
departure.^” said the prior. 


484 


IVANHOE 


‘‘ Have you never, holy father,” answered the knight, 
“ felt an apprehension of approaching evil, for which 
you in vain attempted to assign a cause? Have you 
never found your mind darkened, hke the sunny land- 
scape, by the sudden cloud, which augurs a coming 
tempest? And thinkest thou not that such impulses 
are deserving of attention, as being the hints of our 
guardian spirits that danger is impending?” 

“ I may not deny,” said the prior, crossing himself, 
“ that such things have been, and have been of Heaven ; 
but then such communications have had a visibly use- 
ful scope and tendency. But thou, wounded as thou 
art, what avails it thou shouldst follow the steps 
of him whom thou couldst not aid, were he to be 
assaulted? ” 

“Prior,” said Ivanhoe, “thou dost mistake — I am 
stout enough to exchange buffets with any who will 
challenge me to such a traffic. But were it otherwise, 
may I not aid him, were he in danger, by other means 
than by force of arms? It is but too well known that 
the Saxons love not the Norman race, and who knows 
what may be the issue if he break in upon them when 
their hearts are irritated by the death of Athelstane, 
and their heads heated by the carousal in which they 
will indulge themselves? I hold his entrance among 
them at such a moment most perilous, and I am re- 
solved to share or avert the danger ; which, that I may 
the better do, I would crave thee the use of some pal- 
frey whose pace may be softer than that of my ] 
destrier.’’ \ 

“ Surely,” said the worthy churchman ; “ you shall 
have mine own ambling jennet, and I would it ambled 
as easy for your sake as that of the abbot of St. 
Alban’s. Yet this will I say for Malkin, for so I call 
her, that unless you were to borrow a ride on the jug- 
gler’s steed that paces a hornpipe amongst the eggs, 
you could not go a journey on a creature so gentle and 


IVANHOE 


485 


smooth-paced. I have composed many a homily on her 
back, to the edification of my brethren of the convent 
and many poor Christian souls.” 

“ I pray you, reverend father,” said Ivanhoe, “ let 
Malkin be got ready instantly, and bid Gurth attend 
me with mine arms.” 

“Nay but, fair sir,” said the prior, “I pray you to 
remember that Malkin hath as little skill in arms as 
her master, and that I warrant not her enduring the 
sight or weight of your full panoply. O, Malkin, I 
promise you, is a beast of judgment, and will contend 
against an undue weight. I did but borrow the Fruc- 
tus Temporum from the priest of St. Bee’s, and I prom-' 
ise you she would not stir from the gate until I had 
exchanged the huge volume for my little breviary.” 

“ Trust me, holy father,” said Ivanhoe, “ I will not 
distress her with too much weight ; and if she calls 
a combat with me, it is odds but she has the worst.” 

This reply was made while Gurth was buckling on 
the knight’s heels a pair of large gilded spurs, capable 
of convincing any restive horse that his best safety lay 
in being conformable to the will of his rider. 

The deep and sharp rowels with which Ivanhoe’s heels 
were now armed began to make the worthy prior repent 
of his courtesy, and ejaculate, “Nay but, fair sir, now 
I bethink me, my Malkin abideth not the spur. Better 
it were that you tarry for the mare of our manciple 
down at the grange, which may be had in little more 
than an hour, and cannot but be tractable, in respect 
that she draweth much of our winter firewood, and 
eateth no corn.” 

“ I thank you, reverend father, but will abide by your 
first offer, as I see Malkin is already led forth to the 
gate. Gurth shall carry mine armour; and for the 
rest, rely on it that, as I will not overload Malkin’s 
back, she shall not overcome my patience. And now, 
farewell ! ” 


486 


IVANHOE 


Ivanhoe now descended the stairs more hastily and 
easily than his wound promised, and threw himself 
upon the jennet, eager to escape the importunity of the 
prior, who stuck as closely to his side as his age and 
fatness would permit, now singing the praises of Mal- 
kin, now recommending caution to the knight in 
managing her. 

“ She is at the most dangerous period for maidens as 
well as mares,” said the old man, laughing at his own 
jest, “being barely in her fifteenth year.” 

Ivanhoe, who had other web to weave than to stand 
canvassing a palfrey’s paces with its owner, lent but a 
deaf ear to the prior’s grave advices and facetious jests, 
and having leapt on his mare, and commanded his 
squire (for such Gurth now called himself) to keep 
close by his side, he followed the track of the Black 
Knight into the forest, while the prior stood at the gate 
of the convent looking after him, and ej aculating, “ St. j 
Mary ! how prompt and fiery be these men of war ! I ! 
would I had not trusted Malkin to his keeping, for, , 
crippled as I am with the cold rheum, I am undone if I 
aught but good befalls her. And yet,” said he, recol- ! 
lecting himself, “ as I would not spare my own old | 
and disabled limbs in the good cause of Old England, 
so Malkin must e’en run her hazard on the same ven- i 
ture; and it may be they will think our poor house 
worthy of some munificent guerdon ; or, it may be, 
they will send the old prior a pacing nag. And if they 
do none of these, as great men will forget little men’s 
service, truly I shall hold me well repaid in having done 
that which is right. And it is now wellnigh the fitting 
time to summon the brethren to breakfast in the refec- 
tory. Ah ! I doubt they obey that call more cheerily 
than the bells for primes and matins.” 

So the prior of St. Botolph’s hobbled back again 
into the refectory, to preside over the stock-fish and ale 
which were just serving out for the friars’ breakfast. 


IVANHOE 


487 


Pursy and important, he sat him down at the table, and 
many a dark word he threw out of benefits to be ex- 
pected to the convent, and high deeds of service done by 
himself, which at another season would have attracted 
observation, But as the stock-fish was highly salted, 
and the ale reasonably powerful, the j aws of the breth- 
ren were too anxiously employed to admit of their 
making much use of their ears ; nor do we read of any 
of the fraternity who was tempted to speculate upon the 
mysterious hints of their superior, except Father Dig- 
gory, who was severely afflicted by the toothache, so 
that he could only eat on one side of his jaws. 

In the meantime, the Black Champion and his guide 
were pacing at their leisure through the recesses of the 
forest; the good Knight whiles humming to himself 
the lay of some enamoured troubadour, sometimes en- 
couraging by questions the prating disposition of his 
attendant, so that their dialogue formed a whimsical 
mixture of song and jest, of which we would fain give 
our readers some idea. You are then to imagine this 
Knight, such as we have already described him, strong 
of person, tall, broad-shouldered, and large of bone, 
mounted on his mighty black charger, which seemed 
made on purpose to bear his weight, so easily he paced 
forward under it, having the visor of his helmet raised, 
in order to admit freedom of breath, yet keeping the 
beaver, or under part, closed, so that his features could 
be but imperfectly distinguished. But his ruddy, em- 
browned cheek-bones could be plainly seen, and the 
large and, bright blue eyes, that flashed from under the 
dark shade of the raised visor ; and the whole gesture 
and look of the champion expressed careless gaiety and 
fearless confidence — a mind which was unapt to ap- 
prehend danger, and prompt to defy it when most im- 
minent, yet with whom danger was a familiar thought, 
as with one whose trade was war and adventure. 


488 


IVANHOE 


The Jester wore his usual fantastic habit, but late 
accidents had led him to adopt a good cutting falchion, 
instead of his wooden sword, with a targe to match it ; 
of both which weapons he had, notwithstanding his 
profession, shown himself a skilful master during the 
storming of Torquilstone. Indeed, the infirmity of 
Wamba’s brain consisted chiefly in a kind of impatient 
irritability, which suffered him not long to remain quiet 
in any posture, or adhere to any certain train of ideas, 
although he was for a few minutes alert enough in per- 
forming any immediate task, or in apprehending any 
immediate topic. On horseback, therefore, he was per- 
petually swinging himself backwards and forwards, 
now on the horse’s ears, then anon on the very rump 
of the animal ; now hanging both his legs on one side, 
and now sitting with his face to the tail, moping, mow- 
ing, and making a thousand apish gestures, until his 
palfrey took his freaks so much to heart as fairly to 
lay him at his length on the green grass — an incident 
which greatly amused the Knight, but compelled his 
companion to ride more steadily thereafter. 

At the point of their journey at which we take them 
up, this joyous pair were engaged in singing a virelai, 
as it was called, in which the clown bore a mellow burden 
to the better-instructed Knight of the Fetterlock. And 
thus run the ditty: — 

Anna Marie, love, up is the sun, 

Anna Marie, love, morn is begim, i. 

Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free. 

Up in the morning, love, Anna Marie. 

Anna Marie, love, up in the morn, 

The hunter is winding blithe sounds on his horn. 

The echo rings merry from rock and from tree, 

’T is time to arouse thee, love, Amna Marie. 

Wamba. 

O Tybalt, love, awake me not yet. 

Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit. 

For what are the joys that in waking we prove. 

Compared with these visions, O, Tybalt, my love ? 


rVANHOE 


489 


Let the birds to the rise of the mist carol shrill. 

Let the hunter blow out his loud horn on the hill, 

Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I prove, 

But think not I dreamt of thee, Tybalt, my love. 

“A dainty song,” said Wamba, when they had fin- 
ished their carol, “ and I swear by my bauble, a pretty 
moral! I used to sing it with Gurth, once my play- 
fellow, and now, by the grace of God and his master, 
no less than a freeman ; and we once came by the 
cudgel for being so entranced by the melody that we 
lay in bed two hours after^ sunrise, singing the ditty 
betwixt sleeping and waking: my bones ache at think- 
ing of the tune ever since. Nevertheless, I have played 
the part of Anna Marie to please you, fair sir.” 

The Jester next struck into another carol, a sort of 
comic ditty, to which the Knight, catching up the tune, 
replied in the like manner. 

Knight and Wamba. 

There came three merry men from south, west, and north. 

Ever more sing the roundelay; 

To win the Widow of Wycombe forth. 

And where was the widow might say them nay? 

The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came. 

Ever more sing the roundelay; 

And his fathers, God save us, were men of great fame. 

And where was the widow might say him nay ? 

Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire 
He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay; 

She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire. 

For she was the widow would say him nay. 

Wamba. 

The next that came forth, swore by blood and by nails. 

Merrily sing the roundelay; 

Hur ’s a gentleman, God wot, and Hur ’s lineage was of Wales, 
And where was the widow might say him nay ? 

i Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh 
i Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay; 

She said that one widow for so many was too few, 

\nd she bade the Welshman wend his way. 


490 


IVANHOE 


But tlien next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent, 

Jollily singing his roundelay; 

He spoke to the widow of living and rent. 

And where was the widow could say him nay ? 

Both. 

So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire, 

There for to sing their roundelay; 

For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent. 

There never was a widow could say him nay. 

“I would, Wamba,” said the Knight, “that our host 
of the trjsting-tree, or the jolly Friar, his chaplain, 
heard this thy ditty in praise of our bluff yeoman.” 

“So would not I,” said Wamba, “but for the horn 
that hangs at your baldric.” 

“Ay,” said the Knight, “this is a pledge of Locks- 
ley’s good-will, though I am not like to need it. Three 
mots on this bugle will, I am assured, bring round, at 
our need, a jolly band of yonder honest yeomen.” 

“I would say. Heaven forefend,” said the Jester, 
“ were it not that fair gift is a pledge they would let us 
pass peaceably.” 

“ Why, what meanest thou ? ” said the Knight ; 
“thinkest thou that but for this pledge of fellowship 
they would assault us.?” 

“Nay, for me I say nothing,” said Wamba; “for 
green trees have ears as well as stone walls. But canst 
thou construe me this. Sir Knight? When is thy wine- 
pitcher and thy purse better empty than full? ” 

“Why, never, I think,” replied the Knight. 

“ Thou never deservest to have a full one in thy hand, 
for so simple an answer ! Thou hadst best empty thy 
pitcher ere thou pass it to a Saxon, and leave thy money 
at home ere thou walk in the greenwood.” 

“You hold our friends for robbers, then?” said the 
Knight of the Fetterlock. 

“You hear me not say so, fair sir,” said Wamba. 
“ It may relieve a poor man’s steed to take off his mail 


IVANHOE 


491 


when he hath a long journey to make; and, certes, it 
may do good to the rider’s soul to ease him of that 
which is the root of all evil ; therefore will I give no 
hard names to those who do such services. Only I 
would wish my mail at home, and my purse in my 
chamber, when I meet with these good fellows, because 
it may save them some trouble.” 

“ We are bound to pray for them, my friend, not- 
withstanding the fair character thou dost afford 
them.” 

“Pray for them with all my heart,” said Wamba; 
“ but in the town, not in the greenwood, like the abbot 
of St. Bee’s, whom they caused to say mass with an old 
hollow oak-tree for his stall.” 

“Say as thou list, Wamba,” replied the Knight, 
“ these yeomen did thy master Cedric yeomanly service 
at Torquilstone.” 

“Ay, truly,” answered Wamba; “but that was in 
the fashion of their trade with Heaven.” 

“Their trade, Wamba! how mean you by that.f^” 
replied his companion. 

“ Marry, thus,” said the Jester. “ They make up a 
balanced account with Heaven, as our old cellarer used 
to call his ciphering, as fair as Isaac the Jew keeps with 
his debtors, and, like him, give out a very little, and take 
large credit for doing so ; reckoning, doubtless, on their 
own behalf the sevenfold usury which the blessed text 
hath promised to charitable loans.” 

“Give me an example of your meaning, Wamba; I 
know nothing of ciphers or rates of usage,” answered 
the Knight. 

“Why,” said Wamba, “an your valour be so dull, 
you will please to learn that those honest fellows balance 
a good deed with one not quite so laudable, as a crown 
given to a begging friar with an hundred byzants taken 
from a fat abbot, or a wench kissed in the greenwood 
with the relief of a poor widow.” 


492 


IVANHOE 


“Which of these was the good deed, which was the 
felony?” interrupted the Knight. 

“ A good gibe ! a good gibe ! ” said Wamba ; “ keep- 
ing witty company sharpeneth the apprehension. You 
said nothing so well, Sir Knight, I will be sworn, when 
you held drunken vespers with the bluff hermit. But 
to go on. — The merry men of the forest set off the 
building of a cottage with the burning of a castle, the 
thatching of a choir against the robbing of a church, 
the setting free a poor prisoner against the murder of 
a proud sheriff, or, to come nearer to our point, the 
deliverance of a Saxon franklin against the burning 
alive of a Norman baron. Gentle thieves they are, in 
short, and courteous robbers ; but it is ever the luckiest 
to meet with them when they are at the worst.” 

“How so, Wamba?” said the Knight. 

“Why, then they have some compunction, and are 
for making up matters with Heaven. But when they 
have struck an even balance. Heaven help them with 
whom they next open the account ! The travellers who 
first met them after their good service at Torquilstone 
would have a woful flaying. And yet,” said Wamba, 
coming close up to the Knight’s side, “there be com- 
panions who are far more dangerous for travellers to 
meet than yonder outlaws.” 

“And who may they be, for you have neither bears 
nor wolves, I trow? ” said the Knight. 

“ Marry, sir, but we have Malvoisin’s men-at-arms,” 
said Wamba ; “ and let me tell you that, in time of civil 
war, a halfscore of these is worth a band of wolves at any 
time. They are now expecting their harvest, and are rein- 
forced with the soldiers that escaped from Torquilstone ; 
so that, should we meet with a band of them, we are like 
to pay for our feats of arms. Now, I pray you. Sir 
Knight, what would you do if we met two of them ? ” 

“ Pin the villains to the earth with my lance, Wamba, 
if they offered us any impediment.” 


IVANHOE 


493 


“ But what if there were four of them ? ” 

“ They should drink of the same cup,” answered the 
Knight. 

“ What if six,” continued Wamba, “ and we as we 
now are, barely two ; would you not remember Locks- 
ley’s horn ? ” 

“ What ! sound for aid,” exclaimed the Knight, 
“ against a score of such rascaille as these, whom one 
good knight could drive before him, as the wind drives 
the withered leaves ? ” 

“Nay, then,” said Wamba, “I will pray you for a 
close sight of that same horn that hath so powerful a 
breath.” 

The Knight undid the clasp of the baldric, and in- 
dulged his fellow-traveller, who immediately hung the 
bugle round his own neck. 

“ Tra-lira-la,” said he, whistling the notes ; “ nay, I 
know my gamut as well as another.” 

“ How mean you, knave ” said the Knight ; “ restore 
me the bugle.” 

“ Content you. Sir Knight, it is in safe keeping. 
When valour and folly travel, folly should bear the 
horn, because she can blow the best.” 

“Nay but, rogue,” said the Black Knight, “this 
exceedeth thy license. Beware ye tamper not with my 
patience.” 

“ Urge me not with violence. Sir Knight,” said the 
Jester, keeping at a distance from the impatient cham- 
pion, “ or folly will show a clean pair of heels, and leave 
valour to find out his way through the wood as best 
he may.” 

“Nay, thou hast hit me there,” said the Knight; 
“and, sooth to say, I have little time to jangle with 
thee. Keep the horn an thou wilt, but let us proceed 
on our journey.” 

“ You will not harm me, then ? ” said Wamba. 

“I tell thee no, thou knave!” 


494 


IVANHOE 


“Ay, but pledge me your knightly word for it,” 
continued Wamba, as he approached with great 
caution. 

“ My knightly word I pledge ; only come on with 
thy foolish self.” 

“Nay, then, valour and folly are once more boon 
companions,” said the Jester, coming up frankly to 
the Knight’s side; “but, in truth, I love not such buf- 
fets as that you bestowed on the burly Friar, when his 
holiness rolled on the green like a king of the nine-pins. 
And now that folly wears the horn, let valour rouse 
himself and shake his mane; for, if I mistake not, 
there are company in yonder brake that are on the 
look-out for us.” 

“What makes thee judge so.?^” said the Knight. 

“ Because I have twice or thrice noticed the glance 
of a morrion from amongst the green leaves. Had 
they been honest men, they had kept the path. But j 
yonder thicket is a choice chapel for the clerks of St. I 
Nicholas.” 

“By my faith,” said the Knight, closing his visor, 
“ I think thou be’st in the right on ’t.” 

And in good time did he close it, for three arrows 
flew at the same instant from the suspected spot against 
his head and breast, one of which would have penetrated 
to the brain, had it not been turned aside by the steel 
visor. The other two were averted by the gorget, and 
by the shield which hung around his neck. 

“Thanks, trusty armourer,” said the Knight. 
“Wamba, let us close with them,” and he rode straight 
to the thicket. He was met by six or seven men-at- 
arms, who ran against him with their lances at full 
career. Three of the weapons struck against him, and 
splintered with as little effect as if they had been driven 
against a tower of steel. The Black Knight’s eyes 
seemed to flash fire even through the aperture of his 
visor. He raised himself in his stirrups with an air of 


IVANHOE 


495 


inexpressible dignity, and exclaimed, “ What means 
^ this, my masters ! ” The men made no other reply 
than by drawing their swords and attacking him on 
every side, crying, “Die, tyrant!” 

“Ha! St. Edward! Ha! St. George!” said the 
Black Knight, striking down a man at every invocation ; 
“ have we traitors here.? ” 

His opponents, desperate as they were, bore back 
from an arm which carried death in every blow, and it 
seemed as if the terror of his single strength was about 
to gain the battle against such odds, when a knight, 
in blue armour, who had hitherto kept himself behind 
the other assailants, spurred forward with his lance, 
and taking aim, not at the rider but at the steed, 
wounded the noble animal mortally. 

“ That was a felon stroke ! ” exclaimed the Black 
Knight, as the steed fell to the earth, bearing his rider 
along with him. 

And at this moment Wamba winded the bugle, for the 
whole had passed so speedily that he had not time to 
do so sooner. The sudden sound made the murderers 
bear back once more, and Wamba, though so imper- 
fectly weaponed, did not hesitate to rush in and assist 
the Black Knight to rise. 

“ Shame on ye, false cowards ! ” exclaimed he in the 
blue harness, who seemed to lead the assailants, “ do 
^’^e fly from the empty blast of a horn blown by a 
jester.? ” 

Animated by his words, they attacked the Black 
Knight anew, whose best refuge was now to place his 
back against an oak, and defend himself with his sword. 
The felon knight, who had taken another spear, watch- 
ing the moment when his fonnidable antagonist was 
most closely pressed, galloped against him in hopes 
to nail him with his lance against the tree, when 
his purpose was again intercepted by Wamba. The 
Jester, making up by agility the want of strength. 


496 


IVANHOE 


and little noticed by the men-at-arms, who were busied 
in their more important object, hovered on the skirts 
of the fight, and effectually checked the fatal career of 
the Blue Knight, by hamstringing his horse with a 
stroke of his sword. Horse and man went to the 
ground; yet the situation of the Knight of the Fetter- 
lock continued very precarious, as he was pressed 
close by several men completely armed, and began to 
be fatigued by the violent exertions necessary to defend 
himself on so many points at nearly the same moment, 
when a gray-goose shaft suddenly stretched on the 
earth one of the most formidable of his assailants, and 
a band of yeomen broke forth from the glade, headed 
by Locksley and the jovial Friar, who, taking ready 
and effectual part in the fray, soon disposed of the 
ruffians, all of whom lay on the spot dead or mortally 
wounded. The Black Knight thanked his deliverers 
with a dignity they had not observed in his former 
bearing, which hitherto had seemed rather that of a 
blunt, bold soldier than of a person of exalted rank. 

“ It concerns me much,” he said, “ even before I 
express my full gratitude to my ready friends, to dis- 
cover, if I may, who have been my unprovoked enemies. 
Open the visor of that Blue Knight, Wamba, who seems 
the chief of these villains.” 

The Jester instantly made up to the leader of the 
assassins, who, bruised by his fall, and entangled under 
the wounded steed, lay incapable either of flight or 
resistance. 

‘‘Come, valiant sir,” said Wamba, “I must be your 
armourer as well as your equerry. I have dismounted 
you, and now I will unhelm you.” 

So saying, with no very gentle hand he undid the 
helmet of the Blue Knight, which, rolling to a distance 
on the grass, displayed to the Knight of the Fetterlock 
grizzled locks, and a countenance he did not expect to 
have seen under such circumstances. 


IVANHOE 


497 


‘‘Waldemar Fitzurse!” he said in astonishment; 
“ what could urge one of thy rank and seeming worth 
to so foul an undertaking?” 

“Richard,” said the captive knight, looking up to 
him, “thou knowest little of mankind, if thou knowest 
not to what ambition and revenge can lead every child 
of Adam.” 

“ Revenge ! ” answered the Black Knight ; “ I never 
wronged thee. On me thou hast nought to revenge.” 

“My daughter, Richard, whose alliance thou didst 
scorn — was that no injury to a Norman, whose blood 
is noble as thine own ? ” 

“Thy daughter!” replied the Black Knight. “A 
proper cause of enmity, and followed up to a bloody 
issue ! Stand back, my masters, I would speak to him 
alone. And now, Waldemar Fitzurse, say me the 
truth : confess who set thee on this traitorous deed.” 

“Thy father’s son,” answered Waldemar, “who, in 
so doing, did but avenge on thee thy disobedience to 
thy father.” 

Richard’s eyes sparkled with indignation, but his 
better nature overcame it. He pressed his hand against 
his brow, and remained an instant gazing on the face 
of the humbled baron, in whose features pride was con- 
tending with shame. 

“Thou dost not ask thy life, Waldemar?” said the 
King. 

“ He that is in the lion’s clutch,” answered Fitzurse, 
“ knows it were needless.” 

“Take it, then, unasked,” said Richard; “the lion 
preys not on prostrate carcasses. Take thy life, but 
with this condition, that in three days thou shalt leave 
England, and go to hide thine infamy in thy Norman 
castle, and that thou wilt never mention the name of 
John of Anjou as connected with thy felony. If thou 
art found on English ground after the space I have 
allotted thee, thou diest; or if thou breathest aught 
32 


498 


IVANHOE 


that can attaint the honour of my house, by St. George ! 
not the altar itself shall be a sanctuary. I will hang 
thee out to feed the ravens from the very pinnacle of 
thine own castle. Let this knight have a steed, Locks- 
ley, for I see your yeomen have caught those which 
were running loose, and let him depart unharmed.” 

‘‘But that I judge I listen to a voice whose behests 
must not be disputed,” answered the yeoman, “ I would 
send a shaft after the skulking villain that should spare 
him the labour of a long journey.” 

“ Thou bearest an English heart, Locksley,” said the 
Black Knight, “and well dost judge thou art the more 
bound to obey my behest: I am Richard of England!” 

At these words, pronounced in a tone of majesty 
suited to the high rank, and no less distinguished char- 
acter, of Coeur-de-Lion, the yeomen at once kneeled 
down before him, and at the same time tendered their 
allegiance, and implored pardon for their offences. 

“ Rise, my friends,” said Richard, in a gracious tone, 
looking on them with a countenance in which his habit- 
ual good-humour had already conquered the blaze of 
hasty resentment, and whose features retained no mark 
of the late desperate conflict, excepting the flush arising 
from exertion — “arise,” he said, “my friends! Your 
misdemeanours, whether in forest or field, have been 
atoned by the loyal services you rendered my distressed 
subjects before the walls of Torquilstone, and the res- 
cue you have this day afforded to your sovereign. 
Arise, my liegemen, and be good subjects in future. 
And thou, brave Locksley — ” 

“ Call me no longer Locksley, my Liege, but know 
me under the name which, I fear, fame hath blown too 
widely not to have reached even your royal ears : I am 
Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest.” 

“ King of outlaws, and Prince of good fellows ! ” said 
the King, “ who hath not heard a name that has- been 
borne as far as Palestine.? But be assured, brave 


IVANHOE 


499 


outlaw, that no deed done in our absence, and in the 
turbulent times to which it hath given rise, shall be 
remembered to thy disadvantage.” 

“ True says the proverb,” said Wamba, interposing 
his word, but with some abatement of his usual petu- 
lance — 

‘ ‘ When the cat is away, 
f The mice will play.” 

‘‘What, Wamba, art thou there said Richard; 
“ I have been so long of hearing thy voice, I thought 
j thou hadst taken flight.” 

\ “I take flight!” said Wamba; “when do you ever 
j find folly separated from valour.? There lies the trophy 
of my sword, that good gray gelding, whom I heartily 
^ wish upon his legs again, conditioning his master lay 
there houghed in his place. It is true, I gave a little 
ground at first, for a motley jacket does not brook 
lance-heads as a steel doublet will. But if I fought 
I not at sword’s point, you will grant me that I sounded 
' the onset.” 

“And to good purpose, honest Wamba,” replied the 
King. “ Thy good service shall not be forgotten.” 

“ Confiteor! confiteor! ” exclaimed, in a submissive 
tone, a voice near the King’s side; “my Latin will 
carry me no further, but I confess my deadly treason, 
fand pray leave to have absolution before I am led to 
^execution ! ” 

Richard looked around, and beheld the jovial Friar 
on his knees, telling his rosary, while his quarter-staff, 
which had not been idle during the skirmish, lay on 
the grass beside him. His countenance was gathered 
so as he thought might best express the most profound 
1 contrition, his eyes being turned up, and the corners of 
his mouth drawn down, as Wamba expressed it, like 
the tassels at the mouth of a purse. Yet this demure 
affectation of extreme penitence was whimsically belied 


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by a ludicrous meaning which lurked in his huge fea- 
tures, and seemed to pronounce his fear and repentance 
alike hypocritical. 

“For what art thou cast down, mad priest?” said 
Richard ; “ art thou afraid thy diocesan should learn 
how truly thou dost serve Our Lady and St. Dunstan ? 
Tush, man ! fear it not ; Richard of England betrays 
no secrets that pass over the flagon.” 

“Nay, most gracious sovereign,” answered the her- 
mit, well known to the curious in penny histories of 
Robin Hood by the name of Friar Tuck, “it is not the 
crosier I fear, but the sceptre. Alas ! that my sacri- 
legious fist should ever have been applied to the ear 
of the Lord’s anointed!” 

“ Ha I ha ! ” said Richard, “ sits the wind there ? In 
truth, I had forgotten the buffet, though mine ear sung 
after it for a whole day. But if the cuff was fairly 
given, I will be judged by the good men around, if it 
was not as well repaid; or, if thou thinkest I still owe 
thee aught, and will stand forth for another counter- 
buff—” 

“ By no means,” replied Friar Tuck, “ I had mine 
own returned, and with usury : may your Maj esty ever 
pay your debts as fully 1 ” 

“ If I could do so with cuffs,” said the King, “ my 
creditors should have little reason to complain of an 
empty exchequer.” 

“And yet,” said the Friar, resuming his demure, 
hypocritical countenance, “ I know not what penance 
I ought to perform for that most sacrilegious blow — I ” 

“ Speak no more of it, brother,” said the King ; 
“ after having stood so many cuffs from paynims and 
misbelievers, I were void of reason to quarrel with the 
buffet of a clerk so holy as he of Copmanhurst. Yet,, 
mine honest Friar, I think it would be best both for' 
the church and thyself that I should procure a license 
to unfrock thee, and retain thee as a yeoman of our 


IVANHOE 


501 


guard, serving in care of our person, as formerly in 
attendance upon the altar of St. Dunstan.” 

“ My Liege,” said the Friar, “ I humbly crave your 
pardon; and you would readily grant my excuse, did 
you but know how the sin of laziness has beset me. 
St. Dunstan — may he be gracious to us ! — stands 
quiet in his niche, though I should forget my orisons 
in killing a fat buck ; I stay out of my cell sometimes 
a night, doing I wot not what — St. Dunstan never 
complains — a quiet master he is, and a peaceful, as 
ever was made of wood. But to be a yeoman in attend- 
ance on my sovereign the King — the honour is great, 
doubtless — yet, if I were but to step aside to comfort 
a widow in one comer, or to kill a deer in another, 
it would be, ‘ Where is the dog priest ? ’ says one. 
‘ Who has seen the accursed Tuck.? ’ says another. 
‘ The unfrocked villain destroys more venison than half 
the country besides,’ says one keeper ; ‘ And is hunt- 
ing after every shy doe in the country ! ’ quoth a second. 
In fine, good my Liege, I pray you to leave me as you 
found me; or, if in aught you desire to extend your 
benevolence to me, that I may be considered as the poor 
clerk of St. Dunstan’s cell in Copmanhurst, to whom 
any small donation will be most thankfully acceptable.” 

“ I understand thee,” said the King, “ and the holy 
clerk shall have a grant of vert and venison in my 
woods of Wharacliffe. Mark, however, I will but as- 
sign thee three bucks every season ; but if that do not 
prove an apology for thy slaying thirty, I am no 
Christian knight nor true king.” 

“Your Grace may be well assured,” said the Friar, 
“ that, with the grace of St. Dunstan, I shall find the 
way of multiplying your most bounteous gift.” 

“ I nothing doubt it, good brother,” said the King ; 
“ and as venison is but dry food, our cellarer shall have 
orders to deliver to thee a butt of sack, a mnlet of Mal- 
voisie, and three hogsheads of ale of the first strike. 


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yearly. If that will not quench thy thirst, thou must 
come to court, and become acquainted with my butler.” 

“But for St. Dunstan.'^” said the Friar — 

“A cope, a stole, and an altar-cloth shalt thou also 
have,” continued the King, crossing himself. “ But we 
may not turn our game into earnest, lest God punish 
us for thinking more on our follies than on His honour 
and worship.” 

“ I will answer for my patron,” said the priest, 
joyously. 

“Answer for thyself. Friar,” said King Richard, 
something sternly ; but immediately stretching out his 
hand to the hermit, the latter, somewhat abashed, bent 
his knee, and saluted it. “ Thou dost less honour to my 
extended palm than to my clenched fist,” said the 
monarch ; “ thou didst only kneel to the one, and to the 
other didst prostrate thyself.” 

But the Friar, afraid perhaps of again giving of- 
fence by continuing the conversation in too jocose a 
style — a false step to be particularly guarded against 
by those who converse with monarchs — bowed pro- 
foundly, and fell into the rear. 

At the same time, two additional personages appeared 
on the scene. 


IVANHOE 


503 


CHAPTER XLI 

All hail to the lordlings of high degree, 

V\^ho live not more happy, though greater than we 
Our pastimes to see. 

Under every green tree. 

In all the gay woodland, right welcome ye be. 

Macdonald. 

T he new-comers were Wilfred of Ivanhoe, on the 
prior of Botolph’s palfrey, and Gurth, who 
attended him, on the knight’s own war-horse. 
The astonishment of Ivanhoe was beyond bounds when 
he saw his master besprinkled with blood, and six or 
seven dead bodies lying around in the little glade in 
which the battle hg-d taken place. Nor was he less 
surprised to' see Richard surrounded by so many silvan 
attendants, the outlaws, as they seemed to be, of the for- 
est, and a perilous retinue therefore for a prince. He 
hesitated whether to address the King as the Black 
Knight-errant, or in what other manner to demean 
himself towards him. Richard saw his embarrassment. 

“ Fear not, Wilfred,” he said, “ to address Richard 
Plantagenet as himself, since thou seest him in the 
company of true English hearts, although it may be 
they have been urged a few steps aside by warm English 
blood.” 

“ Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe,” said the gallant outlaw, 
stepping forward, “ my assurances can add nothing to 
those of our sovereign ; yet, let me say somewhat 
proudly, that of men who have suffered much, he hath 
not truer subjects than those who now stand around 
him.” 

“ I cannot doubt it, brave man,” said Wilfred, “ since 
thou art of the number. But what mean these marks of 
death and danger — these slain men, and the bloody 
armour of my Prince.^” 


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‘‘Treason hath been with us, Ivanhoe,” said the 
King ; “ but, thanks to these brave men, treason hath 
met its meed. But, now I bethink me, thou too art a 
traitor,” said Richard, smiling — “a most disobedient 
traitor; for were not our orders positive that thou 
shouldst repose thyself at St. Botolph’s until thy wound 
was healed.? ” 

“ It is healed,” said Ivanhoe — “ it is not of more con- 
sequence than the scratch of a bodkin. But why — oh 
why, noble Prince, will you thus vex the hearts of your 
faithful servants, and expose your life by lonely jour- 
neys and rash adventures, as if it were of no more 
value that that of a mere knight-errant, who has no 
interest on earth but what lance and sword may procure 
him ? ” 

“ And Richard Plantagenet,” said the King, “ desires 
no more fame than his good lance and sword may 
acquire him; and Richard Plantagenet is prouder of 
achieving an adventure, with only his good sword, and 
his good arm to speed, than if he led to battle an host 
of a hundred thousand armed men.” 

“But your kingdom, my Liege,” said Ivanhoe — 
“ your kingdom is threatened with dissolution and civil 
war ; your subj ects menaced with every species of evil, 
if deprived of their sovereign in some of those dangers 
which it is your daily pleasure to incur, and from 
which you have but this moment narrowly escaped.” 

“Ho! ho! my kingdom and my subjects!” an- 
swered Richard, impatiently ; “ I tell thee. Sir Wilfred, 
the best of them are most willing to repay my follies in 
kind. For example, my very faithful servant, Wilfred 
of Ivanhoe, will not obey my positive commands, and 
yet reads his king a homily, because he does not walk 
exactly by his advice. Which of us has most reason 
to upbraid the other.? Yet forgive me, my faithful 
Wilfred. The time I have spent, and am yet to spend, 
in concealment is, as I explained to thee at St. Botolph’s, 


IVANHOE 


505 


necessary to give my friends and faithful nobles time 
to assemble their forces, that, when Richard’s return 
is announced, he should be at the head of such a 
force as enemies shall tremble to face, and thus subdue 
the meditated treason, without even unsheathing a 
sword. Estoteville and Bohun will not be strong 
enough to move forward to York for twenty-four hours. 
I must have news of Salisbury from the south, and of 
Beauchamp in Warwickshire, and of Multon and Percy 
in the north. The Chancellor must make sure of 
London. Too sudden an appearance would subject me 
to dangers other than my lance and sword, though 
backed by the bow of bold Robin, or the quarter-staff 
of Friar Tuck, and the horn of the sage Wamba, may 
be able to rescue me from.” 

Wilfred bowed in submission, well knowing how vain 
it was to contend with the wild spirit of chivalry which 
so often impelled his master upon dangers which he 
might easily have avoided, or rather, which it was 
unpardonable in him to have sought out. The young 
knight sighed, therefore, and held his peace; while 
Richard, rejoiced at having silenced his counsellor, 
though his heart acknowledged the justice of the charge 
he had brought against him, went on in conversation 
with Robin Hood. ‘‘ King of outlaws,” he said, “ have 
you no refreshment to offer to your brother sovereign? 
for these dead knaves have found me both in exercise 
and appetite.” 

‘‘In troth,” replied the outlaw, “for I scorn to lie 
to your Grace, our larder is chiefly supplied with — ” 
He stopped, and was somewhat embarrassed. 

“With venison, I suppose?” said Richard, gaily; 
“better food at need there can be none; and truly, if 
a king will not remain at home and slay his own game, 
methinks he should not brawl too loud if he finds it 
killed to his hand.” 

“ If your Grace, then,” said Robin, “ will again 


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IVANHOE 


honour with your presence one of Robin Hood’s places 
of rendezvous, the venison shall not be lacking; and a 
stoup of ale, and it may be a cup of reasonably good 
wine, to relish it withal.” 

The outlaw accordingly led the way, followed by the 
buxom monarch, more happy, probably, in this chance 
meeting with Robin Hood and his foresters than he 
would have been in again assuming his royal state, 
and presiding over a splendid circle of peers and nobles. 
Novelty in society and adventure were the zest of life 
to Richard Coeur-de-Lion, and it had its highest rel- 
ish when enhanced by dangers encountered and sur- 
mounted. In the lion-hearted king, the brilliant, but 
useless, character of a knight of romance was in a 
great measure realized and revived; and the personal 
glory which he acquired by his own deeds of arms 
was far more dear to his excited imagination than that 
which a course of policy and wisdom would have spread 
around his government. Accordingly, his reign was 
like the course of a brilliant and rapid meteor, which 
shoots along the face of heaven, shedding around an 
unnecessary and portentous light, which is instantly 
swallowed up by universal darkness ; his feats of 
chivalry furnishing themes for bards and minstrels, but 
affording none of those solid benefits to his country on J 
which history loves to pause, and hold up as an example 
to posterity. But in his present company Richard 
showed to the greatest imaginable advantage. He 
was gay, good-humoured, and fond of manhood in every i 
rank of life. 

Beneath a huge oak-tree the silvan repast was hastily 
prepared for the King of England, surrounded by men ! 
outlaws to his government, but who now formed his 
court and his guard. As the flagon went round, the 
rough foresters soon lost their awe for the presence of i 
Majesty. The song and the jest were exchanged, the I 
stories of former deeds were told with advantage ; and ] 


IVANHOE 


507 


at length, and while boasting of their successful infrac- 
tion of the laws, no one recollected they were speaking 
in presence of their natural guardian. The merry 
king, nothing heeding his dignity any more than his 
company, laughed, quaffed, and jested among the jolly 
band. The natural and rough sense of Robin Hood 
led him to be desirous that the scene should be closed 
ere anything should occur to disturb its harmony, the 
more especially that he observed Ivanhoe’s brow clouded 
with anxiety. “We are honoured,” he said to Ivanhoe, 
apart, “ by the presence of our gallant sovereign ; yet 
I would not that he dallied with time which the circum- 
i stances of his kingdom may render precious.” 

“ It is well and wisely spoken, brave Robin Hood,” 
i said Wilfred, apart ; “ and know, moreover, that they 
who jest with Majesty, even in its gayest mood, are but 
I toying with the lion’s whelp, which, on slight provoca- 
tion, uses both fangs and claws.” 

“ You have touched the very cause of my fear,” said 
the outlaw. “ My men are rough by practice and 
nature; the King is hasty as well as good-humoured; 
nor know I how soon cause of offence may arise, or 
I how warmly it may be received; it is time this revel 
were broken off.” 

j “ It must be by your management then, gallant 
I yeoman,” said Ivanhoe ; “ for each hint I have essayed 
I to give him serves only to induce him to prolong it.” 

“ Must I so soon risk the pardon and favour of my 
I sovereign ? ” said Robin Hood, pausing for an instant ; 
I “ but, by St. Christopher, it shall be so. I were unde- 
serving his grace did I not peril it for his good. Here, 
Scathlock, get thee behind yonder thicket, and wind 
me a Norman blast on thy bugle, and without an in- 
stant’s delay, on peril of your life.” 

Scathlock obeyed his captain, and in less than five 
minutes the revellers were startled by the sound of his 
horn. 


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IVANHOE 


‘‘ It is the bugle of Malvoisin,” said the Miller, start- 
ing to his feet, and seizing his bow. The Friar dropped 
the flagon, and grasped his quarter-staff. Wamba 
stopt short in the midst of a jest, and betook himself 
to sword and target. All the others stood to their 
weapons. 

Men of their precarious course of life change readily 
from the banquet to the battle; and to Richard the 
exchange seemed but a succession of pleasure. He 
called for his helmet and the most cumbrous parts of 
his armour, which he had laid aside ; and while Gurth 
was putting them on, he laid his strict injunctions on 
Wilfred, under pain of his highest displeasure, not 
to engage in the skirmish which he supposed was 
approaching. 

“ Thou hast fought for me a hundred times, Wilfred, 
and I have seen it. Thou shalt this day look on, and 
see how Richard will fight for his friend and liegeman.” 

In the meantime, Robin Hood had sent off several 
of his followers in different directions, as if to recon- 
noitre the enemy ; and when he saw the company effectu- 
ally broken up, he approached Richard, who was now 
completely armed, and, kneeling down on one knee, 
craved pardon of his sovereign. 

“For what, good yeoman said Richard, somewhat 
impatiently. “Have we not already granted thee a 
full pardon for all transgressions.? Thinkest thou our 
word is a feather, to be blown backward and forward 
between us.? Thou canst not have had time to commit 
any new offence since that time.?” 

“Ay, but I have though,” answered the yeoman, 
“if it be an offence to deceive my prince for his own 
advantage. The bugle you have heard was none of 
Malvoisin’s, but blown by my direction, to break off the 
banquet, lest it trenched upon hours of dearer import 
than to be thus dallied with.” 

He then rose from his knee, folded his arms on his 


IVANHOE 


509 


bosom, and, in a manner rather respectful than submis- 
sive, awaited the answer of the King, like one who is 
conscious he may have given offence, yet is confident in 
the rectitude of his motive. The blood rushed in anger 
to the countenance of Richard; but it was the first 
transient emotion, and his sense of justice instantly 
subdued it. 

“ The King of Sherwood,” he said, “ grudges his 
venison and his wine-flask to the King of England ! It 
is well, bold Robin ! but when you come to see me in 
merry London, I trust to be a less niggard host. Thou 
art right, however, good fellow. Let us therefore to 
horse and away. Wilfred has been impatient this hour. 
Tell me, bold Robin, hast thou never a friend in thy 
band, who, not content with advising, will needs direct 
thy motions, and look miserable when thou dost presume 
to act for thyself 

“ Such a one,” said Robin, “ is my lieutenant. Little 
John, who is even now absent on an expedition as far 
as the borders of Scotland; and I will own to your 
Majesty that I am sometimes displeased by the free- 
dom of his counsels ; but, when I think twice, I cannot 
be long angry with one who can have no motive for 
his anxiety save zeal for his master’s service.” 

“ Thou art right, good yeoman,” answered Richard ; 
“ and if I had Ivanhoe, on the one hand, to give grave 
advice, and recommend it by the sad gravity of his 
brow, and thee, on the other, to trick me into what thou 
thinkest my own good, I should have as little the free- 
dom of mine own will as any king in Christendom or 
Heathenesse. But come, sirs, let us merrily on to Con- 
ingsburgh, and think no more on ’t.” 

Robin Hood assured them that he had detached a 
party in the direction of the road they were to pass, 
who would not fail to discover and apprise them of any 
secret ambuscade; and that he had little doubt they 
would find the ways secure, or, if otherwise, would 


510 


IVANHOE 


receive such timely notice of the danger as would enable 
them to fall back on a strong troop of archers, with 
which he himself proposed to follow on the same route. 

The wise and attentive precautions adopted for his 
safety touched Richard’s feelings, and removed any 
slight grudge which he might retain on account of the 
deception the outlaw captain had practised upon him. 
He once more extended his hand to Robin Hood, assured 
him of his full pardon, and future favour, as well as 
his firm resolution to restrain the tyrannical exercise of 
the forest rights and other oppressive laws, by which 
so many English yeomen were driven into a state of 
rebellion. But Richard’s good intentions towards the 
bold outlaw were frustrated by the King’s untimely 
death; and the Charter of the Forest was extorted 
from the unwilling hands of King John when he suc- 
ceeded to his heroic brother. As for the rest of Robin 
Hood’s career, as well as the tale of his treacherous 
death, they are to be found in those black-letter gar- 
lands, once sold at the low and easy rate of one half- 
penny — 

Now cheaply purchased at their weight in gold. 

The outlaw’s opinion proved true; and the King, I 
attended by Ivanhoe, Gurth, and Wamba, arrived with- 
out any interruption within view of the Castle of Con- 
ingsburgh, while the sun was yet in the horizon. 

There are few more beautiful or striking scenes 
in England than are presented by the vicinity of this 
ancient Saxon fortress. The soft and gentle river Don 
sweeps through an amphitheatre, in which cultivation 
is richly blended with woodland, and on a mount as- 
cending from the river, well defended by walls and 
ditches, rises this ancient edifice, which, as its Saxon 
name implies, was, previous to the Conquest, a royal 
residence of the kings of England. The outer walls have 
probably been added by the Normans, but the inner 


IVANHOE 


511 


keep bears token of very great antiquity. It is situated 
on a mount at one angle of the inner court, and forms 
a complete circle of perhaps twenty-five feet in diameter. 
The wall is of immense thickness, and is propped or de- 
fended by six huge external buttresses, which project 
from the circle, and rise up against the sides of the 
tower as if to strengthen or to support it. These mas- 
sive buttresses are solid when they arise from the foun- 
dation, and a good way higher up ; but are hollowed 
out towards the top, and terminate in a sort of turrets 
communicating with the interior of the keep itself. The 
distant appearance of this huge building, with these 
singular accompaniments, is as interesting to the 
lovers of the picturesque as the interior of the castle 
is to the eager antiquary, whose imagination it carries 
back to the days of the Heptarchy. A barrow, in the 
vicinity of the castle, is pointed out as the tomb of the 
memorable Hengist ; and various monuments, of great 
antiquity and curiosity, are shown in the neighbouring 
churchyard. 

When Coeur-de-Lion and his retinue approached this 
rude yet stately building, it was not, as at present, 

, surrounded by external fortifications. The Saxon 
architect had exhausted his art in rendering the main 
keep defensible, and there was no other circumvallation 
i than a rude barrier of palisades. 

A huge black banner, which floated from the top 
of the tower, announced that the obsequies of the late 
owner were still in the act of being solemnized. It bore 
, no emblem of the deceased’s birth or quality, for 
I armorial bearings were then a novelty among the Nor- 
iman chivalry themselves, and were totally unknown to 
the Saxons. But above the gate was another banner, on 
which the figure of a white horse, rudely painted, indi- 
cated the nation and rank of the deceased, by the well- 
known symbol of Hengist and his Saxon warriors. 

All around the castle was a scene of busy commotion ; 


512 


IVANHOE 


for such funeral banquets were times of general and 
profuse hospitality, which not only every one who 
could claim the most distant connection with the de- 
ceased, but all passengers whatsoever, were invited to 
partake. The wealth and consequence of the deceased 
Athelstane occasioned this custom to be observed in 
the fullest extent. 

Numerous parties, therefore, were seen ascending and 
descending the hill on which the castle was situated; 
and when the King and his attendants entered the open 
and unguarded gates of the external barrier, the space 
within presented a scene not easily reconciled with the 
cause of the assemblage. In one place cooks were toil- 
ing to roast huge oxen and fat sheep ; in another, hogs- 
heads of ale were set abroach, to be drained at the 
freedom of all comers. Groups of every description 
were to be seen devouring the food and swallowing the 
liquor thus abandoned to their discretion. The naked 
Saxon serf was drowning the sense of his half-year’s 
hunger and thirst in one day of gluttony and drunken- 
ness ; the more pampered burgess and guild-brother 
was eating his morsel with gust, or curiously criticising 
the quantity of the malt and the skill of the brewer. 
Some few of the poorer Norman gentry might also be 
seen, distinguished by their shaven chins and short 
cloaks, and not less so by their keeping together, and 
looking with great scorn on the whole solemnity, even 
while condescending to avail themselves of the good 
cheer which was so liberally supplied. 

Mendicants were, of course, assembled by the score, 
together with strolling soldiers returned from Pales- 
tine (according to their own account at least) ; pedlers 
were displaying their wares ; travelling mechanics were 
inquiring after employment; and wandering palmers, 
hedge-priests, Saxon minstrels, and Welsh bards, were 
muttering prayers, and extracting mistuned dirges 
from their harps, crowds, and rotes. One sent forthi 


IVANHOE 


513 


the praises of Athelstane in a doleful panegyric; an- 
other, in a Saxon genealogical poem, rehearsed the un- 
couth and harsh names of his noble ancestry. Jesters 
and jugglers were not aw anting, nor was the occasion 
of the assembly supposed to render the exercise of their 
profession indecorous or improper. Indeed, the ideas 
of the Saxons on these occasions were as natural as 
they were rude. If sorrow was thirsty, there was drink ; 
if hungry, there was food; if it sunk down upon and 
saddened the heart, here were the means supplied of 
miidh, or at least of amusement. Nor did the assistants 
scorn to avail themselves of those means of consolation, 
although, every now and then, as if suddenly recollect- 
ing the cause which had brought them together, the 
men groaned in unison, while the females, of whom 
many were present, raised up their voices and shrieked 
for very woe. 

Such was the scene in the castle-yard at Conings- 
burgh when it was entered by Richard and his followers. 
The seneschal or steward deigned not to take notice of 
the groups of inferior guests who were perpetually 
entering and withdrawing, unless so far as was neces- 
sary to preserve order; nevertheless, he was struck 
by the good mien of the Monarch and Ivanhoe, more 
especially as he imagined the features of the latter were 
familiar to him. Besides, the approach of two knights, 
for such their dress bespoke them, was a rare event at 
a Saxon solemnity, and could not but be regarded 
as a sort of honour to the deceased and his family. 
And in his sable dress, and holding in his hand his white 
wand of office, this important personage made way 
through the miscellaneous assemblage of guests, thus 
conducting Richard and Ivanhoe to the entrance of the 
tower. Gurth and Wamba speedily found acquaint- 
ances in the courtyard, nor presumed to intrude them- 
selves any farther until their presence should be 
required. 


514 


IVANHOE 


CHAPTER XLII 

I found them winding of Marcello’s corpse. 

And there was such a solemn melody, 

’Twixt doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies, — 

Such as old grandames, watching by the dead. 

Are wont to outwear the night with. 

Old Play. 

T he mode of entering the great tower of Con- 
ingsburgh Castle is very peculiar, and partakes 
of the rude simplicity of the early times in which 
it was erected. A flight of steps, so deep and narrow 
as to be almost precipitous, leads up to a low portal in 
the south side of the tower, by which the adventurous 
antiquary may still, or at least could a few years since, 
gain access to a small stair within the thickness of the 
main wall of the tower, which leads up to the third 
story of the building — the two lower being dungeons 
or vaults, which neither receive air nor light, save by a 
square hole in the third story, with which they seem 
to have communicated by a ladder. The access to the 
upper apartments in the tower, which consist in all of 
four stories, is given by stairs which are carried up 
through the external buttresses. 

By this difficult and complicated entrance, the good 
King Richard, followed by his faithful Ivanhoe, was 
ushered into the round apartment which occupies the 
whole of the third story from the ground. Wilfred, by 
the difficulties of the ascent, gained time to muffle his 
face in his mantle, as it had been held expedient that 
he should not present himself to his father until the 
King should give him the signal. 

There were assembled in this apartment, around a 
large oaken table, about a dozen of the most distin- 
guished representatives of the Saxon families in the 
adjacent counties. These were all old, or at least 


IVANHOE 


515 


elderly, men; for the younger race, to the great dis- 
pleasure of the seniors, had, like Ivanhoe, broken down 
many of the barriers which separated for half a cen- 
tury the Norman victors from the vanquished Saxons. 
The downcast and sorrowful looks of these venerable 
men, their silence and their mournful posture, formed 
a strong contrast to the levity of the revellers on the 
outside of the castle. Their gray locks and long full 
beards, together with their antique tunics and loose 
black mantles, suited well with the singular and rude 
apartment in which they were seated, and gave the ap- 
pearance of a band of ancient worshippers of Woden, 
recalled to life to mourn over the decay of their na- 
tional glory. 

Cedric, seated in equal rank among his countrymen, 
seemed yet, by common consent, to act as chief of the 
assembly. Upon the entrance of Richard (only known 
to him as the valorous Knight of the Fetterlock) he 
arose gravely, and gave him welcome by the ordinary 
salutation, Waes hael, raising at the same time a gob- 
let to his head. The King, no stranger to the customs 
of his English subjects, returned the greeting with the 
appropriate words, Drinc hael, and partook of a cup 
which was handed to him by the sewer. The same 
' courtesy was offered to Ivanhoe, who pledged his father 
I in silence, supplying the usual speech by an inclination 
of his head, lest his voice should have been recognized. 

When this introductory ceremony was performed, 
Cedric arose, and, extending his hand to Richard, con- 
^ ducted him into a small and very rude chapel, which 
j was excavated, as it were, out of one of the external 
' buttresses. As there was no opening, saving a very 
; narrow loophole, the place would have been nearly quite 
= dark but for two flambeaux or torches, which showed, 
jby a red and smoky light, the arched roof and naked 
walls, the rude altar of stone, and the crucifix of the 
same material. 


516 


rVANHOE 


Before this altar was placed a bier, and on each side 
of this bier kneeled three priests, who told their beads, 
and muttered their prayers, with the greatest signs of 
external devotion. For this service a splendid “ soul- 
scat” was paid to the convent of St. Edmund’s by the 
mother of the deceased ; and, that it might be fully de- 
served, the whole brethren, saving the lame sacristan, 
had transferred themselves to Coningsburgh, where, 
while six of their number were constantly on guard 
in the performance of divine rites by the bier of Athel- 
stane, the others failed not to take their share of 
the refreshments and amusements which went on at the 
castle. In maintaining this pious watch and ward, the 
good monks were particularly careful not to interrupt 
their hymns for an instant, lest Zernebock, the ancient j 
Saxon Apollyon, should lay his clutches on the departed 1 
Athelstane. Nor were they less careful to prevent any ] 
unhallowed layman from touching the pall, which, hav- 
ing been that used at the funeral of St. Edmund, was 
liable to be desecrated if handled by the profane. If, 
in truth, these attentions could be of any use to the I 
deceased, he had some right to expect them at the hands 
of the brethren of St. Edmund’s, since, besides a hun- , 
dred mancuses of gold paid down as the soul-ransom, 
the mother of Athelstane had announced her intention 
of endowing that foundation with the better part of the j 
lands of the deceased, in order to maintain perpetual , 
prayers for his soul and that of her departed husband. 

Richard and Wilfred followed the Saxon Cedric into 
the apartment of death, where, as their guide pointed 
with solemn air to the untimely bier of Athelstane, they 
followed his example in devoutly crossing themselves, ^ 
and muttering a brief prayer for the weal of the de- ^ 
parted soul. ^ ' 

This act of pious charity performed, Cedric again ' 
motioned them to follow him, gliding over the stone * 
floor with a noiseless tread ; and, after ascending a few 


IVANHOE 


517 


steps, opened with great caution the door of a small 
oratory, which adjoined to the chapel. It was about 
eight feet square, hollowed, like the chapel itself, out 
of the thickness of the wall; and the loophole which 
enlightened it being to the west, and widening consid- 
erably as it sloped inward, a beam of the setting sun 
found its way into its dark recess, and showed a female 
of a dignified mien, and whose countenance retained the 
marked remains of majestic beauty. Her long mourn- 
ing robes, and her flowing wimple of black cypress, en- 
hanced the whiteness of her skin, and the beauty of 
her light-coloured and flowing tresses, which time had 
neither thinned nor mingled with silver. Her counte- 
nance expressed the deepest sorrow that is consistent 
with resignation. On the stone table before her stood 
a crucifix of ivory, beside which was laid a missal, hav- 
ing its pages richly illuminated, and its boards adorned 
with clasps of gold and bosses of the same precious 
metal. 

“ Noble Edith,” said Cedric, after having stood a 
moment silent, as if to give Richard and Wilfred time 
to look upon the lady of the mansion, “ these are worthy 
strangers come to take a part in thy sorrows. And 
this, in especial, is the valiant knight who fought so 
bravely for the deliverance of him for whom we this 
day mourn.” 

“His bravery has my thanks,” returned the lady; 
“ although it be the will of Heaven that it should be 
displayed in vain. I thank, too, his courtesy, and that 
of his companion, which hath brought them hither to 
behold the widow of Adeling, the mother of Athelstane, 
in her deep hour of sorrow and lamentation. To your 
care, kind kinsman, I entrust them, satisfied that they 
will want no hospitality which these sad walls can yet 
afford.” 

The guests bowed deeply to the mourning parent, 
and withdrew with their hospitable guide. 


518 


IVANHOE 


Another winding stair conducted them to an apart- 
ment of the same, size with that wliich they had first 
entered, occupying indeed the story immediately above. 
F rom this room, ere yet the door was opened, proceeded 
a low and melancholy strain of vocal music. When they 
entered, they found themselves in the presence of about 
twenty matrons and maidens of distinguished Saxon lin- 
eage. Four maidens, Rowena leading the choir, raised 
a hymn for the soul of the deceased, of which we have 
only been able to decipher two or three stanzas: — 

Dust unto dust, 

To this all must. 

The tenant hath resign’d 
The faded form 
To waste and worm: 

Corruption claims her kind. 

Through paths unknown 
Thy soul hath flown, 

To seek the realms of woe. 

Where fiery pain 
Shall purge the stain 
Of actions done below. 

In that sad place, 

By Mary’s grace. 

Brief may thy dwelling be! 

Till prayers and alms. 

And holy psalms. 

Shall set the captive free. 

While this dirge was sung, in a low and melancholy 
tone, by the female choristers, the others were divided 
into two bands, of which one was engaged in bedecking, 
with such embroidery as their skill and taste could 
compass, a large silken pall, destined to cover the bier 
of Athelstane, while the others busied themselves in 
selecting, from baskets of flowers placed before them, 
garlands, which they intended for the same mournful 
purpose. The behaviour of the maidens was decorous, 
if not marked with deep affliction ; but now and then 
a whisper or a smile called forth the rebuke of the 


IVANHOE 


519 


severer matrons, and here and there might be seen a 
damsel more interested in endeavouring to find out how 
her mourning-robe became her than in the dismal cere- 
mony for which they were preparing. Neither was this 
propensity (if we must needs confess the truth) at all 
diminished by the appearance of two strange knights, 
which occasioned some looking up, peeping, and whis- 
pering. Rowena alone, too proud to be vain, paid her 
greeting to her deliverer with a graceful courtesy. Her 
demeanour was serious, but not dejected; and it may 
be doubted whether thoughts of Ivanhoe, and of the 
uncertainty of his fate, did not claim as great a share 
in her gravity as the death of her kinsman. 

To Cedric, however, who, as we have observed, was 
not remarkably clear-sighted on such occasions, the 
sorrow of his ward seemed so much deeper than any 
of the other maidens that he deemed it proper to whis- 
per the explanation, “ She was the affianced bride of 
the noble Athelstane.” It may be doubted whether 
this communication went a far way to increase Wil- 
fred’s disposition to sympathize with the mourners of 
Coningsburgh. 

Having thus formally introduced the guests to the 
different chambers in which the obsequies of Athelstane 
were celebrated under different forms, Cedric conducted 
them into a small room, destined, as he informed them, 
for the exclusive accommodation of honourable guests, 
whose more slight connection with the deceased might 
render them unwilling to join those who were immedi- 
ately affected by the unhappy event. He assured them 
of every accommodation, and was about to withdraw 
when the Black Knight took his hand. 

“ I crave to remind you, noble thane,” he said, “ that 
when we last parted you promised, for the service I had 
the fortune to render you, to grant me a boon.” 

“ It is granted ere named, noble Knight,” said 
Cedric; “yet, at this sad moment — ” 


IVANHOE 


520 

Of that also,” said the King, ‘‘ I have bethought 
me ; but my time is brief ; neither does it seem to me 
unfit that, when closing the grave on the noble Athel- 
stane, we should deposit therein certain prejudices and 
hasty opinions.” 

“ Sir Knight of the Fetterlock,” said Cedric, colour- 
ing, and interrupting the King in his turn, “ I trust 
your boon regards yourself and no other; for in that 
which concerns the honour of my house, it is scarce fit- 
ting that a stranger should mingle.” 

“ Nor do I wish to mingle,” said the King, mildly, 
“unless in so far as you will admit me to have an in- 
terest. As yet you have known me but as the Black 
Knight of the Fetterlock. Know me now as Richard 
Plantagenet.” 

“Richard of Anjou!” exclaimed Cedric, stepping 
backward with the utmost astonishment. 

“No, noble Cedric — Richard of England! whose 
deepest interest — whose deepest wish, is to see her sons 
united with each other. And, how now, worthy thane! 
hast thou no knee for thy prince.?” 

“ To Norman blood,” said Cedric, “ it hath never 
bended.” 

“Reserve thine homage then,” said the Monarch, 
“until I shall prove my right to it by my equal pro- 
tection of Normans and English.” 

“ Prince,” answered Cedric, “ I have ever done justice 
to thy bravery and thy worth. Nor am I ignorant of 
thy claim to the crown through thy descent from Ma- 
tilda, niece to Edgar Atheling, and daughter to Mal- 
colm of Scotland. But Matilda, though of the royal 
Saxon blood, was not the heir to the monarchy.” 

“ I will not dispute my title with thee, noble thane,” 
said Richard, calmly ; “ but I will bid thee look around 
thee, and see where thou wilt find another to be put into 
the scale against it.” 

“And hast thou wandered liither. Prince, to tell me 


IVANHOE 


521 


so?” said Cedric — “to upbraid me with the ruin of 
my race, ere the grave has closed o’er the last scion of 
Saxon royalty?” His countenance darkened as he 
spoke. “ It was boldly — it was rashly done ! ” 

“Not so, by the holy rood!” replied the King; “it 
was done in the frank confidence which one brave man 
may repose in another, without a shadow of danger.” 

“ Thou sayest well. Sir King — for King I own thou 
art, and wilt be, despite of my feeble opposition. I 
dare not take the only mode to prevent it, though thou 
hast placed the strong temptation within my reach ! ” 

“ And now to my boon,” said the King, “ which I ask 
not with one jot the less confidence, that thou hast 
refused to acknowledge my lawful sovereignty. I re- 
quire of thee, as a man of thy word, on pain of being 
held faithless, man-swom, and ‘ nidering,’ to forgive 
and receive to thy paternal affection the good knight, 
Wilfred of Ivanhoe. In this reconciliation thou wilt 
own I have an interest — the happiness of my friend, 
and the quelling of dissension among my faithful 
people.” 

“ And this is Wilfred ! ” said Cedric, pointing to his 
son. 

“My father! — my father!” said Ivanhoe, prostrat- 
ing himself at Cedric’s feet, “ grant me thy for- 
giveness ! ” 

“ Thou hast it, my son,” said Cedric, raising him 
up. “ The son of Hereward knows how to keep his 
word, even when it has been passed to a Norman. But 
let me see thee use the dress and costume of thy Eng- 
lish ancestry : no short cloaks, no gay bonnets, no fan- 
tastic plumage in my decent household. He that would 
be the son of Cedric must show himself of English 
ancestry. Thou art about to speak,” he added, sternly, 
“ and I guess the topic. The Lady Rowena must com- 
plete two years’ mourning, as for a betrothed hus- 
band: all our Saxon ancestors would disown us were 


522 


IVANHOE 


we to treat of a new union for her ere the grave of 
him she would have wedded — him so much the most! 
worthy of her hand by birth and ancestry — is yet 
closed. The ghost of Atheist ane himself would burst! 
his bloody cerements, and stand before us to forbid such 
dishonour to his memory.” j 

It seemed as if Cedric’s words had raised a spectre;! 
for scarce had he uttered them ere the door flew open, 
and Athelstane, arrayed in the garments of the grave, 
stood before them, pale, haggard, and like something 
arisen from the dead! 

The effect of this apparition on the persons present 
was utterly appalling. Cedric started back as far aS' 
the wall of the apartment would permit, and, leaning 
against it as one unable to support himself, gazed on 
the figure of his friend with eyes that seemed fixed, 
and a mouth which he appeared incapable of shutting. 
Ivanhoe crossed himself, repeating prayers in Saxon, 
Latin, or Norman-French, as they occurred to his mem- 
ory, while Richard alternately said “ Benedicite’’ and 
swore, Mort de ma 

In the meantime, a horrible noise was heard below ‘ 
stairs, some crying, “ Secure the treacherous monks I ” 
— others, “ Down with them into the dungeon I ” — 
others, “ Pitch them from the highest battlements ! ” 

“ In the name of God! ” said Cedric, addressing what! 
seemed the spectre of his departed friend, “ if thou art 
mortal, speak! — if a departed spirit, say for what 
cause thou dost revisit us, or if I can do aught that 
can set thy spirit at repose. Living or dead, noble 
Athelstane, speak to Cedric!” 

‘‘ I will,” said the spectre, very composedly, “ when 
I have collected breath, and when you give me time. 
Alive, saidst thou.^ I am as much alive as he can be 
who has fed on bread and water for three days, which 
seem three ages. Yes, bread and water, father Cedric 
By Heaven, and all saints in it, better food hath not 


IVANHOE 


523 


passed my weasand for three livelong days, and by 
I God’s providence it is that I am now here to tell it.” 

“Why, noble Athelstane,” said the Black Knight, 
“ I myself saw you struck down by the fierce Templar 
towards the end of the storm at Torquilstone, and, as 
I thought, and Wamba reported, your skull was cloven 
through the teeth.” 

“You thought amiss. Sir Knight,” said Athelstane, 
“ and Wamba lied. My teeth are in good order, and 
that my supper shall presently find. No thanks to the 
Templar though, whose sword turned in his hand, so 
that the blade struck me flatlings, being averted by 
the handle of the good mace with which I warded the 
blow; had my steel-cap been on, I had not valued it 
a rush, and had dealt him such a counterbuff as would 
have spoilt his retreat. But as it was, down I went, 
stunned, indeed, but unwounded. Others, of both sides, 
were beaten down and slaughtered above me, so that 
I never recovered my senses until I found myself in a 
coffin — an open one, by good luck! — placed before 
the altar of the church of St. Edmund’s. I sneezed 
repeatedly — groaned — awakened, and would have 
arisen, when the sacristan and abbot, full of terror, 
came running at the noise, surprised, doubtless, and 
no way pleased, to find the man alive whose heirs they 
had proposed themselves to be. I asked for wine ; they 
gave me some, but it must have been highly medicated, 
for I slept yet more deeply than before, and wakened 
not for many hours. I found my arms swathed down, 
I my feet tied so fast that mine ankles ache at the very 
remembrance ; the place was utterly dark — the oubli- 
ette, as I suppose, of their accursed convent, and from 
the close, stifled, damp smell I conceive it is also used 
for a place of sepulture. I had strange thoughts of 
what had befallen me, when the door of my dungeon 
creaked, and two villain monks entered. They would 
! have persuaded me I was in purgatory, but I knew too 


524 


IVANHOE 


well the pursy, short-breathed voice of the father abbot. 
St. Jeremy! how different from that tone with which 
he used to ask me for another slice of the haunch 1 the 
dog has feasted with me from Christmas to Twelfth 
Night.” j 

“Have patience, noble Athelstane,” said the King, 
“take breath — tell your story at leisure; beshrew me 
but such a tale is as well worth listening to as a 
romance.” 

“Ay but, by the rood of Bromeholm, there was no 
romance in the matter!” said Athelstane. “A barley 
loaf and a pitcher of water — that they gave me, the 
niggardly traitors, whom my father, and I myself, had 
enriched, when their best resources were the flitches of 
bacon and measures of com out of which they wheedled i 
poor serfs and bondsmen, in exchange for their prayers. ' 
The nest of foul, ungrateful vipers — barley bread and 
ditch water to such a patron as I had been ! I will i 
smoke them out of their nest though I be excom- 
municated ! ” 

“ But, in the name of Our Lady, noble Athelstane,” 
said Cedric, grasping the hand of his friend, “ how 
didst thou escape this imminent danger did their 
hearts relent ” 

“ Did their hearts relent ! ” echoed Athelstane. “ Do 
rocks melt with the sun ? I should have been there still, 
had not some stir in the convent, which I find was their 
procession hitherward to eat my funeral feast, when 
they well knew how and where I had been buried alive, 
summoned the swarm out of their hive. I heard them 
droning out their death-psalms, little judging they 
were sung in respect for my soul by those who were 
thus famishing my body. They went, however, and I 
waited long for food; no wonder — the gouty sacristan 
was even too busy with his own provender to mind mine. 
At length down he came, with an unstable step and a 
strong flavour of wine and spices about his person. 


IVANHOE 


525 


Good cheer had opened his heart, for he left me a nook 
of pasty and a flask of wine instead of my former fare. 
I ate, drank, and was invigorated; when, to add to 
my good luck, the sacristan, too totty to discharge his 
duty of turnkey fitly, locked the door beside the staple, 
so that it fell ajar. The light, the food, the wine set 
my invention to work. The staple to which my chains 
were fixed was more rusted than I or the villain abbot 
had supposed. Even iron could not remain without 
consuming in the damps of that infernal dungeon.” 

“ Take breath, noble Athelstane,” said Richard, “and 
partake of some refreshment, ere you proceed with a 
tale so dreadful.” 

“ Partake ! ” quoth Athelstane. “ I have been par- 
taking five times to-day; and yet a morsel of that 
savoury ham were not altogether foreign to the matter : 
and I pray you, fair sir, to do me reason in a cup of 
wine.” 

The guests, though still agape with astonishment, 
pledged their resuscitated landlord, who thus proceeded 
in his story : — He had indeed now many more auditors 
than those to whom it was commenced, for Edith, hav- 
ing given certain necessary orders for arranging mat- 
ters within the castle, had followed the dead-alive up to 
the strangers’ apartment, attended by as many of the 
guests, male and female, as could squeeze into the small 
room, while others, crowding the staircase, caught up 
an erroneous edition of the story, and transmitted it 
still more inaccurately to those beneath, who again sent 
it forth to the vulgar without, in a fashion totally 
irreconcilable to the real fact. Athelstane, however, 
went on as follows with the history of his escape: — 

“Finding myself freed from the staple, I dragged 
myself upstairs as well as a man loaded with shackles, 
and emaciated with fasting, might; and after much 
groping about, I was at length directed, by the sound 
of a jolly roundelay, to the apartment where the worthy 


526 


IVANHOE 


sacristan, an it so please ye, was holding a devil’s mass 
with a huge beetle-browed, broad-shouldered brother of 
the gray-frock and cowl, who looked much more like a 
thief than a clergyman. I burst in upon them, and the 
fashion of my grave-clothes, as well as the clanking of 
my chains, made me more resemble an inhabitant of the 
other world than of this. Both stood aghast ; but when 
I knocked down the sacristan with my fist, the other 
fellow, his pot-companion, fetched a blow at me with 
a huge quarter-staff.” 

“ This must be our Friar Tuck, for a count’s ran- 
som,” said Richard, looking at Ivanhoe. 

“ He may be the devil, an he will,” said Athelstane. 
‘‘ Fortunately, he missed the aim ; and on my approach- 
ing to grapple with him, took to his heels and ran for 
it. I failed not to set my own heels at liberty by means 
of the fetter-key, which hung amongst others at the 
sexton’s belt; and I had thoughts of beating out the 
knave’s brains with the bunch of keys, but gratitude 
for the nook of pasty and the flask of wine which the 
rascal had imparted to my captivity came over my 
heart; so, with a brace of hearty kicks, I left him on 
the floor, pouched some baked meat and a leathern 
bottle of wine, with which the two venerable brethren 
had been regaling, went to the stable, and found in a 
private stall my own best palfrey, which, doubtless, had 
been set apart for the holy father abbot’s particular 
use. Hither I came with all the speed the beast could 
compass — man and mother’s son flying before me 
wherever I came, taking me for a spectre, the more 
especially as, to prevent my being recognized, I drew 
the corpse-hood over my face. I had not gained ad- 
mittance into my own castle, had I not been supposed 
to be the attendant of a juggler who is making the 
people in the castle-yard very merry, considering they 
are assembled to celebrate their lord’s funeral. I say 
the sewer thought I was dressed to bear a part in the 


IVANHOE 


527 


tregetour’s mummery, and so I got admission, and did 
but disclose myself to my mother, and eat a hasty mor- 
sel, ere I came in quest of you, my noble friend.” 

‘‘ And you have found me,” said Cedric, ‘‘ ready to 
resume our brave projects of honour and liberty. I 
tell thee, never will dawn a morrow so auspicious as the 
next for the deliverance of the noble Saxon race.” 

‘‘ Talk not to me of delivering any one,” said Athel- 
stane ; “ it is well I am delivered myself. I am more 
intent on punishing that villain abbot. He shall hang 
on the top of this Castle of Coningsburgh, in his cope 
and stole ; and if the stairs be too strait to admit his 
fat carcass, I will have him craned up from without.” 

“ But, my son,” said Edith, “ consider his sacred 
office.” 

“ Consider my three days’ fast,” replied Athelstane ; 
will have their blood every one of them. Front-de- 
Boeuf was burnt alive for a less matter, for he kept a 
good table for his prisoners, only put too much garlic 
in his last dish of pottage. But these hypocritical, un- 
grateful slaves, so often the self-invited flatterers at 
my board, who gave me neither pottage nor garlic, 
more or less — they die, by the soul of Hengist!” 

‘‘But the Pope, my noble friend,” said Cedric — 

“ But the devil, my noble friend,” answered Athel- 
stane; “they die, and no more of them. Were they 
the best monks upon earth, the world would go on 
without them.” 

“ For shame, noble Athelstane,” said Cedric ; “ forget 
such wretches in the career of glory which lies open be- 
fore thee. Tell this Norman prince, Richard of Anjou, 
that, lion-hearted as he is, he shall not hold undisputed 
the throne of Alfred, while a male descendant of the 
Holy Confessor lives to dispute it.” 

“ How ! ” said Athelstane, “ is this the noble King 
Richard.? ” 

“ It is Richard Plantagenet himself,” said Cedric ; 


528 


IVANHOE 


“ yet I need not remind thee that, coming hither a guest 
of free-will, he may neither be injured nor detained pris- 
oner: thou well knowest thy duty to him as his host.” 

“ Ay, by my faith ! ” said Athelstane ; “ and my duty 
as a subject besides, for I here tender him my allegiance, 
heart and hand.” 

“ My son,” said Edith, “ think on thy royal rights ! ” 

“ Think on the freedom of England, degenerate 
prince!” said Cedric. 

“ Mother and friend,” said Athelstane, “ a truce to 
your upbraidings! Bread and water and a dungeon 
are marvellous mortifiers of ambition, and I rise from 
the tomb a wiser man than I descended into it. One 
half of those vain follies were puffed into my ear by that 
perfidious Abbot Wolfram, and you may now judge if 
he is a counsellor to be trusted. Since these plots were 
set in agitation, I have had nothing but hurried jour- 
neys, indigestions, blows and bruises, imprisonments, 
and starvation; besides that they can only end in the 
murder of some thousands of quiet folk. I tell you, I 
will be king in my own domains, and nowhere else ; and 
my first act of dominion shall be to hang the abbot.” 

“ And my ward Rowena,” said Cedric — “I trust 
you intend not to desert her.?^” 

“Father Cedric,” said Athelstane, “be reasonable. 
The Lady Rowena cares not for me ; she loves the little 
finger of my kinsman Wilfred’s glove better than my 
whole person. There she stands to avouch it. Nay, 
blush not, kinswoman ; there is no shame in loving a 
courtly knight better than a country franklin ; and do 
not laugh neither, Rowena, for grave-clothes and a 
thin visage are, God knows, no matter of merriment. 
Nay, an thou wilt needs laugh, I will find thee a better 
jest. Give me thy hand, or rather lend it me, for I 
but ask it in the way of friendship. Here, cousin Wil- 
fred of Ivanhoe, in thy favour I renounce and ab- 
jure — Hey! by St. Dunstan, our cousin Wilfred 


IVANHOE 


529 


hath vanished! Yet, unless my eyes are still dazzled 
with the fasting I have undergone, I saw him stand 
i there but even now.” 

All now looked around and inquired for Ivanhoe ; but 
he had vanished. It was at length discovered that a 
J ew had been to seek him ; and that, after very brief 
conference, he had called for Gurth and his armour, 
and had left the castle. 

! “Fair cousin,” said Athelstane to Rowena, ‘‘could 
I think that this sudden disappearance of Ivanhoe was 
occasioned by other than the weightiest reason, I would 
myself resume — ” 

j But he had no sooner let go her hand, on first ob- 
serving that Ivanhoe had disappeared, than Rowena, 
who had found her situation extremely embarrassing, 
had taken the first opportunity to escape from the 
apartment. 

“ Certainly,” quoth Athelstane, “ women are the 
least to be trusted of all animals, monks and abbots 
excepted. I am an infidel, if I expected not thanks from 
fher, and perhaps a kiss to boot. These cursed grave- 
i clothes have surely a spell on them, every one flies from 
I me. To you I turn, noble King Richard, with the vows 
of allegiance, which, as a liege subj ect — ” 

But King Richard was gone also, and no one knew 
i whither. At length it was learned that he had hastened 
; to the courtyard, summoned to his presence the Jew 
;who had spoken with Ivanhoe, and, after a moment’s 
I speech with him, had called vehemently to horse, thrown 
I himself upon a steed, compelled the Jew to mount 
another, and set off at a rate which, according to 
Wamba, rendered the old Jew’s neck not worth a 
penny’s purchase. 

I “ By my halidome 1 ” said Athelstane, “ it is certain 
Ithat Zemebock hath possessed himself of my castle in 
my absence. I return in my grave-clothes, a pledge 
restored from the very sepulchre, and every one I speak 
34 


530 


IVANHOE 


to vanishes as soon as they hear my voice ! But it skills 
not talking of it. Come, my friends, such of you as 
are left, follow me to the banquet-hall, lest any more 
of us disappear. It is, I trust, as yet tolerably fur- 
nished, as becomes the obsequies of an ancient Saxon 
noble ; and should we tarry any longer, who knows but 
the devil may fly off with the supper 


CHAPTER XLIII 

Be Mowbray’s sins so hea\y in his bosom. 

That they may break his foaming courser’s back, 

And throw the rider headlong in the lists. 

A caitiff recreant! 

Richard II. 

O UR scene now returns to the exterior of the 
castle, or preceptory, of Temples, feowe, about 
the hour when the bloody die was to be cast 
for the life or death of Rebecca. It was a scene of bustle 
and life, as if the whole vicinity had poured forth its 
inhabitants to a village wake or rural feast. But the 
earnest desire to look on blood and death is not pecu- 
liar to those dark ages ; though, in the gladiatorial 
exercise of single combat and general tourney’', they 
were habituated to the bloody spectacle of brave men 
falling by each other’s hands. Even in our own days, 
when morals are better understood, an execution, a 
bruising-match, a riot, or a meeting of radical reform- 
ers, collects, at considerable hazard to themselves, im- 
mense crowds of spectators, otherwise little interested, 
except to see how matters are to be conducted, or 
whether the heroes of the day are, in the heroic lan- 
guage of insurgent tailors, “ flints ” or “ dunghills.” 

The eyes, therefore, of a very considerable multitude 
were bent on the gate of the preceptory of Templestowe, 


IVANHOE 


531 


with the purpose of witnessing the procession ; while 
still greater numbers had already surrounded the tilt- 
yard belonging to that establishment. This enclosure 
was formed on a piece of level ground adjoining to the 
preceptory, which had been levelled with care, for the 
exercise of military and chivalrous sports. It occupied 
the brow of a soft and gentle eminence, was carefully 
palisaded around, and, as the Templars willingly in- 
vited spectators to be witnesses of their skill in feats of 
chivalry, was amply supplied with galleries and benches 
for their use. 

On the present occasion, a throne was erected for the 
Grand Master at the east end, surrounded with seats 
of distinction for the preceptors and knights of the 
order. Over these floated the sacred standard, called 
Le Beau-seant, which was the ensign, as its name was 
the battle-cry, of the Templars. 

At the opposite end of the lists was a pile of faggots, 
so arranged around a stake, deeply flxed in the ground, 
as to leave a space for the victim whom they were des- 
tined to consume to enter within the fatal circle, in 
order to be chained to the stake by the fetters which 
jhung ready for the purpose. Beside this deadly ap- 
iparatus stood four black slaves, whose colour and Afri- 
can features, then so little known in England, appalled 
the multitude, who gazed on them as on demons em- 
ployed about their own diabolical exercises. These men 
stirred not, excepting now and then, under the direction 
of one who seemed their chief, to shift and replace the 
ready fuel. They looked not on the multitude. In fact, 
they seemed insensible of their presence, and of every- 
thing save the discharge of their own horrible duty. 
And when, in speech with each other, they expanded 
their blubber lips, and showed their white fangs, as if 
they grinned at the thoughts of the expected tragedy, 
the startled commons could scarcely help believing that 
they were actually the familiar spirits with whom the 


532 


IVANHOE 


witch had communed, and who, her time being out, stood 
ready to assist in her dreadful punishment. They 
whispered to each other, and communicated all the 
feats which Satan had performed during that busy 
and unhappy period, not failing, of course, to give the 
devil rather more than his due. 

“ Have you not heard, father Dennet,” quoth one 
boor to another advanced in years, “ that the devil has 
carried away bodily the great Saxon thane, Athelstane 
of Coningsburgh ” 

“ Ay, but he brought him back though, by the bless- 
ing of God and St. Dunstan.” 

“How’s that.?^” said a brisk young fellow, dressed 
in a green cassock embroidered with gold, and having 
at his heels a stout lad bearing a harp upon his back, 
which betrayed his vocation. The Minstrel seemed of 
no vulgar rank ; for, besides the splendour of his gaily 
broidered doublet, he wore around his neck a silver 
chain, by which hung the “ wrest,” or key, with which 
he tuned his harp. On his right arm was a silver plate, 
which, instead of bearing, as usual, the cognizance or 
badge of the baron to whose family he belonged, had 
barely the word Sherwood engraved upon it. “ How 
mean you by that.?” said the gay Minstrel, mingling 
in the conversation of the peasants ; “ I came to seek 
one subject for my rhyme, and, by ’r Lady, I were glad 
to find two.” 

“ It is well avouched,” said the elder peasant, “ that 
after Athelstane of Coningsburgh had been dead four 
weeks — ” 

“ That is impossible,” said the Minstrel ; “ I saw 
him in life at the passage of arms at Ashby-de-la- 
Zouche.” 

“Dead, however, he. was, or else translated,” said 
the younger peasant ; “ for I heard the monks of St. 
Edmund’s singing the death’s hymn for him; and, 
moreover, there was a rich death-meal and dole at the 


IVANHOE 


533 


Castle of Coningsburgh, as right was ; and thither had 
I gone, but for Mabel Parkins, who — ” 

“Ay, dead was Athelstane,” said the old man, shak- 
ing his head, “ and the more pity it was, for the old 
Saxon blood — ” 

“But, your story, my masters — your story,” said 
the Minstrel, somewhat impatiently. 

“ Ay, ay — construe us the story,” said a burly friar, 
who stood beside them, leaning on a pole that exhibited 
an appearance between a pilgrim’s staff and a quarter- 
staff, and probably acted as either when occasion served 
— “ your story,” said the stalwart churchman. “ Bum 
not daylight about it ; we have short time to spare.” 

“ An please your reverence,” said Dennet, a drunken 
priest came to visit the sacristan at St. Edmund’s — ” 

“ It does not please my reverence,” answered the 
churchman, “that there should be such an animal as 
a drunken priest, or, if there were, that a layman should 
so speak to him. Be mannerly, my friend, and con- 
clude the holy man only wrapt in meditation, which 
makes the head dizzy and foot unsteady, as if the 
stomach were filled with new wine : I have felt it 
myself.” 

“Well, then,” answered father Dennet, “a holy 
brother came to visit the sacristan at St. Edmund’s — ■ 
a sort of hedge-priest is the visitor, and kills half the 
deer that are stolen in the forest, who loves the tinkling 
of a pint-pot better than the sacring-bell, and deems 
a flitch of bacon worth ten of his breviary ; for the rest, 
a good fellow and a merry, who will flourish a quarter- 
staff, draw a bow, and dance a Cheshire round with e’er 
a man in Yorkshire.” 

“ That last part of thy speech, Dennet,” said the 
Minstrel, “has saved thee a rib or twain.” 

“ Tush, man, I fear him not,” said Dennet ; “ I am 
somewhat old and stiff, but when I fought for the bell 
and ram at Doncaster — ” 


534 


IVANHOE 


“ But the story — the story, my friend,” again said 
the Minstrel. 

“ Why, the tale is but this — Athelstane of Conings- 
burgh was buried at St. Edmund’s.” 

“ That ’s a lie, and a loud one,” said the friar, “ for 
I saw him borne to his own Castle of Coningsburgh.” 

Nay, then, e’en tell the story yourself, my masters,” 
said Dennet, turning sulky at these repeated contradic- 
tions ; and it was with some difficulty that the boor could 
be prevailed on, by the request of his comrade and the 
Minstrel, to renew his tale. “ These two sober friars,” 
said he at length, “ since this reverend man will needs 
have them such, had continued drinking good ale, and 
wine, and what not, for the best part of a summer’s day, 
when they were aroused by a deep groan, and a clanking 
of chains, and the figure of the deceased Athelstane en- 
tered the apartment, saying, ‘Ye evil shepherds — !’” 

“ It is false,” said the friar, hastily, “ he never spoke 
a word.” 

“So ho! Friar Tuck,” said the Minstrel, drawing 
him apart from the rustics; “we have started a new 
hare, I find.” 

“ I tell thee, Allan-a-Dale,” said the hermit, “ I saw 
Athelstane of Coningsburgh as much as bodily eyes 
ever saw a living man. He had his shroud on, and 
all about him smelt of the sepulchre. A butt of sack 
will not wash it out of my memory.” 

“Pshaw!” answered the Minstrel; “thou dost but 
jest with me!” 

“ Never believe me,” said the Friar, “ an I fetched 
not a knock at him with my quarter-staff that would 
have felled an ox, and it glided through his body as 
it might through a pillar of smoke ! ” 

“By St. Hubert,” said the Minstrel, “but it is a 
wondrous tale, and fit to be put in metre to the ancient 
tune, ‘ Sorrow came to the Old Friar.’ ” 

“Laugh, if ye list,” said Friar Tuck; “but an ye 


IVANHOE 


535 


catch me singing on such a theme, may the next ghost 
or devil carry me off with him headlong! No, no — 
I instantly formed the purpose of assisting at some 
good work, such as the burning of a witch, a judicial 
combat, or the like matter of godly service, and there- 
fore am I here.” 

As they thus conversed, the heavy bell of the church 
of St. Michael of Templestowe, a venerable building, 
situated in a hamlet at some distance from the precep- 
tory, broke short their argument. One by one the 
sullen sounds fell successively on the ear, leaving but 
sufficient space for each to die away in distant echo, 
ere the air was again filled by repetition of the iron 
knell. These sounds, the signal of the approaching 
ceremony, chilled with awe the hearts of the assembled 
multitude, whose eyes were now turned to the precep- 
tory, expecting the approach of the Grand Master, the 
champion, and the criminal. 

At length the drawbridge fell, the gates opened, and 
a knight, bearing the great standard of the order, 
sallied from the castle, preceded by six trumpets, and 
followed by the knights preceptors, two and two, the 
Grand Master coming last, mounted on a stately horse, 
whose furniture was of the simplest kind. Behind him 
came Brian de Bois-Guilbert, armed cap-a-pie in bright 
armour, but without his lance, shield, and sword, which 
were borne by his two esquires behind him. His face, 
though partly hidden by a long plume which floated 
down from his barret-cap, bore a strong and mingled 
expression of passion, in which pride seemed to contend 
with irresolution. He looked ghastly pale, as if he had 
not slept for several nights, yet reined his pawing war- 
horse with the habitual ease and grace proper to the 
best lance of the order of the Temple. His general 
appearance was grand and commanding; but, looking 
at him with attention, men read that in his dark fea- 
tures from which they willingly withdrew their eyes. 


536 


IVANHOE 


On either side rode Conrade of Mont-Fitchet and 
Albert de Malvoisin, who acted as godfathers to the 
champion. They were in their robes of peace, the white 
dress of the order. Behind them followed other com- 
panions of the Temple, with a long train of esquires 
and pages clad in black, aspirants to the honour of 
being one day knights of the order. After these neo- 
phytes came a guard of warders on foot, in the same 
sable livery, amidst whose partizans might be seen the 
pale form of the accused, moving with a slow but un- 
dismayed step towards the scene of her fate. She was 
stript of all her ornaments, lest perchance there should 
be among them some of those amulets which Satan was 
supposed to bestow upon his victims, to deprive them 
of the power of confession even when under the tor- 
ture. A coarse white dress, of the simplest form, had 
been substituted for her Oriental garments ; yet there 
was such an exquisite mixture of courage and resigna- 
tion in her look that even in this garb, and with no 
other ornament than her long black tresses, each eye 
wept that looked upon her, and the most hardened bigot 
regretted the fate that had converted a creature so 
goodly into a vessel of wrath, and a waged slave of the 
devil. 

A crowd of inferior personages belonging to the 
preceptory followed the victim, all moving with the 
utmost order, with arms folded and looks bent upon 
the ground. 

This slow procession moved up the gentle eminence, 
on the summit of which was the tiltyard, and, entering 
the lists, marched once around them from right to left, 
and when they had completed the circle, made a halt. 
There was then a momentary bustle, while the Grand 
Master and all his attendants, excepting the cham- 
pion and his godfathers, dismounted from their horses, 
which were immediately removed out of the lists by the 
esquires, who were in attendance for that purpose. 


IVANHOE 


537 


The unfortunate Rebecca was conducted to the black 
chair placed near the pile. On her first glance at the 
terrible spot where preparations were making for a 
death alike dismaying to the mind and painful to the 
body, she was observed to shudder and shut her eyes, 
praying internally, doubtless, for her lips moved, 
though no speech was heard. In the space of a minute 
she opened her eyes, looked fixedly on the pile as if to 
familiarize her mind with the object, and then slowly 
and naturally turned away her head. 

Meanwhile, the Grand Master had assumed his seat ; 
and when the chivalry of his order was placed around 
and behind him, each in his due rank, a loud and long 
flourish of the trumpets announced that the court were 
seated for judgment. Malvoisin then, acting as god- 
father of the champion, stepped forward, and laid the 
glove of the Jewess, which was the pledge of battle, at 
the feet of the Grand Master. 

“Valorous lord and reverend father,” said he, “ here 
standeth the good knight, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
Knight Preceptor of the Order of the Temple, who, 
by accepting the pledge of battle which I now lay at 
your reverence’s feet, hath become bound to do his 
devoir in combat this day, to maintain that this Jewish 
maiden, by name Rebecca, hath justly deserved the 
doom passed upon her in a chapter of this most holy 
order of the Temple of Zion, condemning her to die as 
a sorceress — here, I say, he standeth, such battle to 
do, knightly and honourable, if such be your noble 
and sanctified pleasure.” 

“ Hath he made oath,” said the Grand Master, “ that 
his quarrel is just and honourable.? Bring forward the 
crucifix and the Te igitur’^ 

“ Sir and most reverend father,” answered Malvoisin, 
readily, “ our brother here present hath already sworn 
to the truth of his accusation in the hand of the good 
knight Conrade de Mont-Fit diet ; and otherwise he 


538 


IVANHOE 


ought not to be sworn, seeing that his adversary is an 
unbeliever, and may take no oath.” 

This explanation was satisfactory, to Albert’s great 
joy; for the wily knight had foreseen the great diffi- 
culty, or rather impossibility, of prevailing upon Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert to take such an oath before the as- 
sembly, and had invented this excuse to escape the 
necessity of his doing so. 

The Grand Master, having allowed the apology of 
Albert Malvoisin, commanded the herald to stand forth 
and do his devoir. The trumpets then again flourished, 
and a herald, stepping forward, proclaimed aloud, 
“ Oyez, oyez, oyez. Here standeth the good knight. 
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, ready to do battle with any 
knight of free blood who will sustain the quarrel al- 
lowed and allotted to the Jewess Rebecca, to try by 
champion, in respect of lawful essoine of her own body ; 
and to such champion the reverend and valorous Grand 
Master here present allows a fair field, and equal par- 
tition of sun and wind, and whatever else appertains 
to a fair combat.” The trumpets again sounded, and 
there was a dead pause of many minutes. 

“ No champion appears for the appellant,” said the 
Grand Master. “ Go, herald, and ask her whether she 
expects any one to do battle for her in this her cause.” 

The herald went to the chair in which Rebecca was 
seated ; and Bois-Guilbert, suddenly turning his horse’s 
head toward that end of the lists, in spite of hints on 
either side from Malvoisin and Mont-Fitchet, was by 
the side of Rebecca’s chair as soon as the herald. 

“ Is this regular, and according to the law of com- 
bat said Malvoisin, looking to the Grand Master. 

“Albert de Malvoisin, it is,” answered Beaumanoir; 
“ for in this appeal to the judgment of God we may not 
prohibit parties from having that communication with 
each other which may best tend to bring forth the truth 
of the quarrel.” 


IVANHOE 


539 


In the meantime, the herald spoke to Rebecca in these 
terms : ‘‘ Damsel, the honourable and reverend the Grand 
Master demands of thee, if thou art prepared with a 
champion to do battle this day in thy behalf, or if thou 
dost yield thee as one justly condemned to a deserved 
doom ? ” 

“ Say to the Grand Master,” replied Rebecca, “ that 
I maintain my innocence, and do not yield me as justly 
condemned, lest I become guilty of mine own blood. Say 
to him, that I challenge such delay as his forms will 
permit, to see if God, whose opportunity is in man’s 
extremity, will raise me up a deliverer; and when such 
uttermost space is passed, may His holy will be done ! ” 

The herald retired to carry this answer to the Grand 
Master. 

“ God forbid,” said Lucas Beaumanoir, ‘‘ that Jew or 
Pagan should impeach us of injustice! Until the 
shadows be cast from the west to the eastward, will 
we wait to see if a champion shall appear for this un- 
fortunate woman. When the day is so far passed, let 
her prepare for death.” 

The herald communicated the words of the Grand 
Master to Rebecca, who bowed her head submissively, 
folded her arms, and, looking up towards heaven, 
seemed to expect that aid from above which she could 
scarce promise herself from man. During this awful 
pause, the voice of Bois-Guilbert broke upon her ear; 
it was but a whisper, yet it startled her more than the 
summons of the herald had appeared to do. 

“ Rebecca,” said the Templar, “ dost thou hear 
me ? ” 

“ I have no portion in thee, cruel, hard-hearted 
man,” said the unfortunate maiden. 

“ Ay, but dost thou understand my words ” said 
the Templar ; “ for the sound of my voice is frightful 
in mine own ears. I scarce know on what ground we 
stand, or for what purpose they have brought us hither. 


540 


IVANHOE 


This listed space — that chair — these faggots — I 
know their purpose, and yet it appears to me like some- 
thing unreal — the fearful picture of a vision, which 
appals my sense with hideous fantasies, but convinces 
not my reason.” 

“My mind and senses keep touch and time,” an- 
swered Rebecca, “and tell me alike that these faggots 
are destined to consume my earthly body, and open a 
painful but a brief passage to a better world.” 

“Dreams, Rebecca — dreams,” answered the Tem- 
plar — “idle visions, rejected by the wisdom of your 
own wiser Sadducees. Hear me, Rebecca,” he said, 
proceeding with animation ; “ a better chance hast thou 
for life and liberty than yonder knaves and dotard 
dream of. Mount thee behind me on my steed — on 
Zamor, the gallant horse that never failed his rider. 

I won him in single fight from the Soldan of Trebi- 
zond. Mount, I say, behind me ; in one short hour is 
pursuit and inquiry far behind — a new world of pleas- 
ure opens to thee — to me a new career of fame. Let 
them speak the doom which I despise, and erase the j 
name of Bois-Guilbert from their list of monastic 
slaves ! I will wash out with blood whatever blot they 
may dare to cast on my scutcheon.” 

“ Tempter,” said Rebecca, “ begone! Not in this last , 
extremity canst thou move me one hair’s-breadth from 
my resting-place. Surrounded as I am by foes, I hold ' 
thee as my worst and most deadly enemy ; avoid thee, , 
in the name of God!” j 

Albert Malvoisin, alarmed and impatient at the dura- j 
tion of their conference, now advanced to interrupt it. j 

“Hath the maiden acknowledged her guilt .f’” he j 
demanded of Bois-Guilbert ; “ or is she resolute in her j 
denial ” 

“ She is indeed resolute,^' said Bois-Guilbert. 

“ Then,” said Malvoisin, “ must thou, noble brother, , 
resume thy place to attend the issue. The shades are 


IVANHOE 


541 


changing on the circle of the dial. Come, brave Bois- 
Guilbert — come, thou hope of our holy order, and soon 
to be its head.” 

As he spoke in this soothing tone, he laid his hand 
on the knight’s bridle, as if to lead him back to his 
station. 

“False villain! what meanest thou by thy hand on 
my rein ? ” said Sir Brian, angrily. And shaking off 
his companion’s grasp, he rode back to the upper end 
of the lists. 

“ There is yet spirit in him,” said Malvoisin apart 
to Mont-Fitchet, “were it well directed; but, like the 
Greek fire, it burns whatever approaches- it.” 

The judges had now been two hours in the lists, 
awaiting in vain the appearance of a champion. 

“And reason good,” said Friar Tuck, “seeing she 
is a Jewess ; and yet, by mine order, it is hard that 
so young and beautiful a creature should perish with- 
out one blow being struck in her behalf! Were she ten 
times a witch, provided she were but the least bit of a 
Christian, my quarter-staff should ring noon on the 
steel cap of yonder fierce Templar, ere he carried the 
matter off thus.” 

It was, however, the general belief that no one could 
or would appear for a Jewess accused of sorcery ; and 
the knights, instigated by Malvoisin, whispered to each 
other that it was time to declare the pledge of Rebecca 
forfeited. At this instant a knight, urging his horse 
to speed, appeared on the plain advancing towards the 
lists. A hundred voices exclaimed, “A champion! — 
a champion ! ” And, despite the prepossessions and 
prejudices of the multitude, they shouted unanimously 
as the knight rode into the tiltyard. The second glance, 
however, served to destroy the hope that his timely 
arrival had excited. His horse, urged for many miles 
to its utmost speed, appeared to reel from fatigue, and 
the rider, however undauntedly he presented himself in 


542 


IVANHOE 


the lists, either from weakness, weariness, or both, 
seemed scare able to support himself in the saddle. 

To the summons of the herald, who demanded his 
rank, his name, and purpose, the stranger knight an- 
swered readily and boldly, ‘‘ I am a good knight and 
' noble, come hither to sustain with lance and sword the j 
just and lawful quarrel of this damsel, Rebecca, daugh- 
ter of Isaac of York ; to uphold the doom pronounced | 
against her to be false and truthless, and to defy Sir i 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, as a traitor, murderer, and 
liar; as I will prove in this field with my body against 
his, by the aid of God, of Our Lady, and of Mon- 
seigneur St. George, the good knight.” 

“ The stranger must first show,” said Malvoisin, > 
“ that he is good knight, and of honourable lineage. ] 
The Temple sendeth not forth her champions against i 
nameless men.” ,j 

‘‘ My name,” said the knight, raising his helmet, “ is ; 
better known, my lineage more pure, Malvoisin, than . 
thine own. I am Wilfred of Ivanhoe.” | 

“ I will not fight with thee at present,” said the Temp- v 
lar, in a changed and hollow voice. “ Get thy wounds 
healed, purvey thee a better horse, and it may be I will ; 
hold it worth my while to scourge out of thee this boyish j 
spirit of bravade.” 

“Ha! proud Templar,” said Ivanhoe, “hast thou | 
forgotten that twice didst thou fall before this lance i 
Remember the lists at Acre; remember the passage of ! 
arms at Ashby ; remember thy proud vaunt in the halls | 
of Rotherwood, and the gage of your gold chain against 
my reliquary, that thou wouldst do battle with Wilfred ^ 
of Ivanhoe, and recover the honour thou hadst lost! 
By that reliquary, and the holy relic it contains, I will ^ 
proclaim thee. Templar, a coward in every court in ' 
Europe — in every preceptory of thine order — unless : 
thou do battle without further delay.” i 

Bois-Guilbert turned his countenance irresolutely *’ 


IVANHOE 


543 


towards Rebecca, and then exclaimed, looking fiercely 
at Ivanhoe, “ Dog of a Saxon ! take thy lance, and 
prepare for the death thou hast drawn upon thee ! ” 

“Does the Grand Master allow me the combat?” 
said Ivanhoe. 

“ I may not deny what thou hast challenged,” said 
the Grand Master, “ provided the maiden accepts thee 
as her champion. Yet I would thou wert in better 
plight to do battle. An enemy of our order hast thou 
never been, yet would I have thee honourably met 
with.” 

“Thus — thus I am, and not otherwise,” said Ivan- 
hoe; “it is the judgment of God — to His keep- 
ing I commend myself. Rebecca,” said he, riding up 
to the fatal chair, “ dost thou accept of me for thy 
champion ? ” 

“I do,” she said — “I do,” fluttered by an emotion 
which the fear of death had been unable to produce — 
“ I do accept thee as the champion whom Heaven hath 
sent me. Yet, no — no — thy wounds are uncured. 
Meet not that proud man ; why shouldst thou perish 
also? ” 

But Ivanhoe was already at his post, and had closed 
his visor, and assumed his lance. Bois-Guilbert did the 
same ; and his esquire remarked, as he clasped his visor, 
that his face, which had, notwithstanding the variety 
of emotions by which he had been agitated, continued 
during the whole morning of an ashy paleness, was 
now become suddenly very much flushed. 

The herald then, seeing each champion in his place, 
uplifted his voice, repeating thrice — Faites vos devoirs^ 
preux chevaliers! After the third cry, he withdrew to 
one side of the lists, and again proclaimed that none, on 
peril of instant death, should dare by word, cry, or 
action to interfere with or disturb this fair field of 
combat. The Grand Master, who held in his hand 
the gage of battle, Rebecca’s glove, now threw it 


544 IVANHOE 

into the lists, and pronounced the fatal signal words, 
Laissez oiler. 

The trumpets sounded, and the knights charged 
each other in full career. The wearied horse of Ivan- 
hoe, and its no less exhausted rider, went down, as all 
had expected, before the well-aimed lance and vigorous 
steed of the Templar. This issue of the combat all had 
foreseen ; but although the spear of Ivanhoe did but, in 
comparison, touch the shield of Bois-Guilbert, that 
champion, to the astonishment of all who beheld it, 
reeled in his saddle, lost his stirrups, and fell in the 
lists. 

Ivanhoe, extricating himself from his fallen horse, 
was soon on foot, hastening to mend his fortune with 
his sword ; but his antagonist arose not. Wilfred, plac- 
ing his foot on his breast, and the sword’s point to his 
throat, commanded him to yield him, or die on the spot. 
Bois-Guilbert returned no answer. 

“ Slay him not, Sir Knight,” cried the Grand Mas- 
ter, “ unshriven and unabsolved ; kill not body and 
soul ! We allow him vanquished.” 

He descended into the lists, and commanded them to 
unhelm the conquered champion. His eyes were closed ; 
the dark red flush was still on his brow. As they looked 
on him in astonishment, the eyes opened ; but they were 
fixed and glazed. The flush passed from his brow, and 
gave way to the pallid hue of death. Unscathed by the 
lance of his enemy, he had died a victim to the violence 
of his own contending passions. 

“ This is indeed the judgment of God,” said the 
Grand Master, looking upwards — “ Fiat voluntas 
tual ” 


IVANHOE 


545 


CHAPTER XLIV 

So! now ’t is ended, like an old wife’s story. 

Webster. 

W HEN the first moments of surprise were over, 
Wilfred of Ivanhoe demanded of the Grand 
Master, as judge of the field, if he had man- 
fully and rightfully done his duty in the combat. 

“ Manfully and rightfully hath it been done,” said 
the Grand Master ; “ I pronounce the maiden free and 
guiltless. The arms and the body of the deceased 
knight are at the will of the victor.” 

“ I will not despoil him of his weapons,” said the 
Knight of Ivanhoe, “ nor condemn his corpse to shame : 
he hath fought for Christendom. God’s arm, no human 
hand, hath this day struck him down. But let his 
obsequies be private, as becomes those of a man who 
died in an unjust quarrel. And for the maiden — ” 

He was interrupted by a clattering of horses’ feet, 
advancing in such numbers, and so rapidly, as to shake 
the ground before them ; and the Black Knight gal- 
loped into the lists. He was followed by a numerous 
band of men-at-arms, and several knights in complete 
armour. 

“ I am too late,” he said, looking around him. “ I 
had doomed Bois-Guilbert for mine own property. 
Ivanhoe, was this well, to take on thee such a venture, 
and thou scarce able to keep thy saddle .f* ” 

“ Heaven, my Liege,” answered Ivanhoe, “ hath taken 
this proud man for its victim. He was not to be hon- 
oured in dying as your will had designed.” 

“ Peace be with him,” said Richard, looking stead- 
fastly on the corpse, ‘‘ if it may be so ; he was a gallant 
knight, and has died in his steel harness full knightly. 
But we must waste no time. Bohun, do thine office ! ” 

35 


546 


IVANHOE 


A knight stepped forward from the King’s attend- 
ants, and, laying his hand on the shoulder of Albert de 
Malvoisin, said, “ I arrest thee of high treason.” 

The Grand Master had hitherto stood astonished 
at the appearance of so many warriors. He now 
spoke. 

“Who dares to arrest a knight of the Temple of 
Zion, within the girth of his own preceptory, and in the 
presence of the Grand Master ? and by whose authority 
is this bold outrage offered.^” 

“ I make the arrest,” replied the knight — “ I, 
Henry Bohun, Earl of Essex, Lord High Constable 
of England.” 

“And he arrests Malvoisin,” said the King, raising 
his visor, “ by the order of Richard Plantagenet, here 
present. Conrade Mont-Fitchet, it is well for thee thou 
aid: bom no subject of mine. But for thee, Malvoisin, 
thou diest with thy brother Philip ere the world be a 
week older.” 

“ I will resist thy doom,” said the Grand Master. 

“Proud Templar,” said the King, “thou canst not: ; 
look up, and behold the royal standard of England < 
floats over thy towers instead of thy Temple banner ! 
Be wise, Beaumanoir, and make no bootless opposition. 
Thy hand is in the lion’s mouth.” 

“ I will appeal to Rome against thee,” said the Grand 
Master, “ for usurpation on the immunities and privi- 
leges of our order.” 

“ Be it so,” said the King ; “ but for thine own sake 
tax me not with usurpation now. Dissolve thy chapter, 
and depart with thy followers to thy next preceptory, if 
thou canst find one which has not been made the scene 
of treasonable conspiracy against the King of England. I 
Or, if thou wilt, remain, to share our hospitality, and 
behold our justice.” 

“To be a guest in the house where I should com- 
mand.^” said the Templar; “never! Chaplains, raise 


IVANHOE 


547 


the Psalm, Quare fremuerunt gentes? Knights, squires, 
and followers of the Holy Temple, prepare to follow 
the banner of Beau-seant!” 

The Grand Master spoke with a dignity which 
confronted even that of England’s king himself, and 
inspired courage into his surprised and dismayed fol- 
lowers. They gathered around him like the sheep 
around the watch-dog, when they hear the baying of 
the wolf. But they evinced not the timidity of the 
scared flock: there were dark brows of defiance, and 
looks which menaced the hostility they dared not to 
proffer in words. They drew together in a dark line 
of spears, from which the white cloaks of the knights 
were visible among the dusky garments of their re- 
tainers, like the lighter-coloured edges of a sable 
cloud. The multitude, who had raised a clamorous 
shout of reprobation, paused and gazed in silence on 
the formidable and experienced body to which they had 
unwarily bade defiance, and shrunk back from their 
front. 

The Earl of Essex, when he beheld them pause in 
their assembled force, dashed the rowels into his 
charger’s sides, and galloped backwards and forwards 
to array his followers, in oposition to a band so for- 
midable. Richard alone, as if he loved the danger his 
presence had provoked, rode slowly along the front of 
the Templars, calling aloud, “What, sirs! Among 
so many gallant knights, will none dare splinter a 
spear with Richard.? Sirs of the Temple! your ladies 
are but sun-burned, if they are not worth the shiver of 
a broken lance ! ” 

“ The brethren of the Temple,” said the Grand Mas- 
ter, riding forward in advance of their body, “ fight 
not on such idle and profane quarrel; and not with 
thee, Richard of England, shall a Templar cross lance 
in my presence. The Pope and princes of Europe shall 
judge our quarrel, and whether a Christian prince has 


548 


IVANHOE 


done well in bucklering the cause which thou hast to- 
day adopted. If unassailed, we depart assailing no one. 
To thine honour we refer the annour and household 
goods of the order which we leave behind us, and on thy 
conscience we lay the scandal and offence thou hast tliis 
day given to Christendom.” 

With these words, and without waiting a reply, the 
Grand Master gave the signal of departure. Their 
trumpets sounded a wild march, of an Oriental char- 
acter, which formed the usual signal for the Templars 
to advance. They changed their array from a line to 
a column of march, and moved off as slowly as their 
horses could step, as if to show it was only the will of 
their Grand Master, and no fear of the opposing and 
superior force, which compelled them to withdraw. 

“ By the splendour of Our Lady’s brow ! ” said King 
Richard, “ it is pity of their lives that these Templars 
are not so trusty as they are disciplined and valiant.” 

The multitude, like a timid cur which waits to bark 
till the object of its challenge has turned his back, 
raised a feeble shout as the rear of the squadron left 
the ground. 

During the tumult which attended the retreat of the 
Templars, Rebecca saw and heard nothing: she was 
locked in the arms of her aged father, giddy, and almost 
senseless, with the rapid change of circumstances around 
her. But one word from Isaac at length recalled her 
scattered feelings. 

“ Let us go,” he said, “ my dear daughter, my re- 
covered treasure — let us go to throw ourselves at the 
feet of the good youth.” 

“ Not so,” said Rebecca. “ O no — no — no; I must 
not at this moment dare to speak to him. Alas ! I 
should say more than — No, my father, let us instantly 
leave this evil place.” 

“ But, my daughter,” said Isaac, “ to leave him who 
hath come forth like a strong man with his spear and 


IVx^NHOE 


549 


shield, holding his life as nothing, so he might redeem 
thy captivity ; and thou, too, the daughter of a people 
strange unto him and his — this is service to be thank- 
fully acknowledged.” 

“ It is — it is — most thankfully — 7 most devoutly 
acknowledged,” said Rebecca; “it shall be still more 
so — but not now — for the sake of thy beloved Rachael, 
father, grant my request — not now!” 

“Nay, but,” said Isaac, insisting, “they will deem 
us more thankless than mere dogs ! ” 

“ But thou seest, my dear father, that King Richard 
is in presence, and that — ” 

“ True, my best — my wisest Rebecca. Let us hence 
* — let us hence! Money he will lack, for he has just 
returned from Palestine, and, as they say, from prison ; 
and pretext for exacting it, should he need any, may 
arise out of my simple traffic with his brother John. 
Away — away, let us hence!” 

And hurrying his daughter in his turn, he conducted 
her from the lists, and by means of conveyance which he 
had provided, transported her safely to the house of the 
Rabbi Nathan. 

The Jewess, whose fortunes had formed the principal 
interest of the day, having now retired unobserved, the 
attention of the populace was transferred to the Black 
Knight. They now filled the air with “Long life to 
Richard with the Lion’s Heart, and down with the 
usurping Templars ! ” 

“ Notwithstanding all this lip-loyalty,” said Ivan- 
hoe to the Earl of Essex, “ it was well the King took 
the precaution to bring thee with him, noble Earl, and 
so many of thy trusty followers.” 

The Earl smiled and shook his head. 

“ Gallant Ivanhoe,” said Essex, “ dost thou know our 
master so well, and yet suspect him of taking so wise a 
precaution ! I was drawing towards York, having 
heard that Prince John was making head there, when 


IVANHOE 


530 

I met King Richard, like a true knight-errant, gallop- 
ing hither to achieve in his own person this adventure 
of the Templar and the Jewess, with liis own single arm. 
I accompanied him with my band, almost maugre his 
consent.” 

“And what news from York, brave Earl.'^” said 
Ivanhoe; “will the rebels bide us there 

“No more than December’s snow will bide July’s 
sun,” said the Earl; “they are dispersing; and who 
should come posting to bring us the news, but John 
himself ! ” 

“ The traitor ! — the ungrateful, insolent traitor ! ” 
said Ivanhoe ; “ did not Richard order him into 

confinement ? ” 

“ O ! he received him,” answered the Earl, “as if they 
had met after a hunting party ; and, pointing to me and 
our men-at-arms, said, ‘ Thou seest, brother, I have 
some angry men with me; thou wert best to go to our 
mother, carry her my duteous affection, and abide with 
her until men’s minds are pacified.’ ” 

“And this was all he said.^” inquired Ivanhoe; 
“ would not any one say that this prince invites men to 
treason by his clemency ? ” 

“ Just,” replied the Earl, “ as the man may be said 
to invite death who undertakes to fight a combat, having 
a dangerous wound unhealed.” 

“I forgive thee the jest. Lord Earl,” said Ivanhoe; 
“ but, remember, I hazarded but my own life — Richard, 
the welfare of his kingdom.” 

“ Those,” replied Essex, “ who are specially careless 
of their own welfare are seldom remarkably attentive 
to that of others. But let us haste to the castle, for 
Richard meditates punishing some of the subordinate 
members of the conspiracy, though he has pardoned 
their principal.” 

From the judicial investigations which followed on 
this occasion, and which are given at length in the 


IVANHOE 


551 


Wardour Manuscript, it appears that Maurice de 
Bracy escaped beyond seas, and went into the ser- 
vice of Philip of France, while Philip de Malvoisin 
and his brother Albert, the preceptor of Templestowe, 
were executed, although Waldemar Fitzurse, the soul 
of the conspiracy, escaped with banishment, and Prince 
John, for whose behoof it was undertaken, was not 
even censured by his good-natured brother. No one, 
however, pitied the fate of the two Malvoisins, who 
only suffered the death which they had both well 
deserved, by many acts of falsehood, cruelty, and 
oppression. 

Briefly after the judicial combat, Cedric the Saxon 
was summoned to the court of Richard, which, for the 
purpose of quieting the counties that had been dis- 
turbed by the ambition of his brother, was then held at 
York. Cedric tush’d and pshaw’d more than once at 
the message ; but he refused not obedience. In fact, the 
return of Richard had quenched every hope that he had 
entertained of restoring a Saxon dynasty in England; 
for, whatever head the Saxons might have made in the 
event of a civil war, it was plain that nothing could 
be done under the undisputed dominion of Richard, 
popular as he was by his personal good qualities and 
military fame, although his administration was wil- 
fully careless — now too indulgent and now allied to 
despotism. 

But, moreover, it could not escape even Cedric’s re- 
luctant observation that his project for an absolute 
union among the Saxons, by the marriage of Rowena 
and Athelstane, was now completely at an end, by the 
mutual dissent of both parties concerned. This was, 
indeed, an event which, in his ardour for the Saxon 
cause, he could not have anticipated; and even when 
the disinclination of both was broadly and plainly 
manifested, he could scarce bring himself to believe 
that two Saxons of royal descent should scruple, on 


552 


IVANHOE 


personal grounds, at an alliance so necessary for the pub- 
lic weal of the nation. But it was not the less certain. 
Rowena had always expressed her repugnance to Athel- 
stane, and now Athelstane was no less plain and positive 
in proclaiming his resolution never to pursue his ad- 
dresses to the Lady Rowena. Even the natural obsti- 
nacy of Cedric sunk beneath these obstacles, where he, 
remaining on the point of junction, had the task of 
dragging a reluctant pair up to it, one with each hand. 
He made, however, a last vigorous attack on Athelstane, 
and he found that resuscitated sprout of Saxon royalty 
engaged, like country squires of our own day, in a 
furious war with the clergy. 

It seems that, after all his deadly menaces against 
the abbot of St. Edmund’s, Athelstane’s spirit of re- 
venge, what between the natural indolent kindness of 
his own disposition, what through the prayers of his 
mother Edith, attached, like most ladies (of the period), 
to the clerical order, had terminated in his keeping the 
abbot and his monks in the dungeons of Coningsburgh 
for three days on a meagre diet. For this atrocity the 
abbot menaced him with excommunication, and made 
out a dreadful list of complaints in the bowels and 
stomach, suffered by himself and his monks, in conse- 
quence of the tyrannical and unjust imprisonment 
they had sustained. With this controversy, and with 
the means he had adopted to counteract this clerical 
persecution, Cedric found the mind of his friend Athel- 
stane so fully occupied, that it had no room for another 
idea. And when Rowena’s name was mentioned, the 
noble Athelstane prayed leave to quaff a full goblet to 
her health, and that she might soon be the bride of his 
kinsman Wilfred. It was a desperate case, therefore. 
There was obviously no more to be made of Athelstane ; 
or, as Wamba expressed it, in a phrase which has de- 
scended from Saxon times to ours, he was a cock that 
would not fight. 


IVANHOE 


553 


There remained betwixt Cedric and the determination 
which the lovers desired to come to only two obstacles — 
his own obstinacy, and his dislike of the Norman dy- 
nasty. The former feeling gradually gave way before 
the endearments of his ward and the pride which he 
could not help nourishing in the fame of his son. Be- 
sides, he was not insensible to the honour of allying 
his own line to that of Alfred, when the superior claims 
of the descendant of Edward the Confessor were aban- 
doned for ever. Cedric’s aversion to the Norman race 
of kings was also much undermined — first, by con- 
sideration of the impossibility of ridding England of 
the new dynasty, a feeling which goes far to create 
loyalty in the subject to the king de facto; and, 
secondly, by the personal attention of King Richard, 
who delighted in the blunt humour of Cedric, and, to 
use the language of the Wardour Manuscript, so dealt 
with the noble Saxon that, ere he had been a guest 
at court for seven days, he had given his consent to the 
marriage of his ward Rowena and his son Wilfred of 
Ivanhoe. 

The nuptials of our hero, thus formally approved 
by his father, were celebrated in the most august of 
temples, the noble minster of York. The King himself 
attended, and, from the countenance which he afforded 
on this and other occasions to the distressed and hitherto 
degraded Saxons, gave them a safer and more certain 
prospect of attaining their just rights than they could 
reasonably hope from the precarious chance of a civil 
war. The church gave her full solemnities, graced with 
all the splendour which she of Rome knows how to 
apply with such brilliant effect. 

Gurth, gallantly apparelled, attended as esquire upon 
his young master, whom he had served so faithfully, 
and the magnanimous Wamba, decorated with a new 
cap and a most gorgeous set of silver bells. Sharers of 
Wilfred’s dangers and adversity, they remained, as 


554 IVANHOE 

they had a right to expect, the partakers of his more 
prosperous career. 

But, besides this domestic retinue, these distinguished 
nuptials were celebrated by the attendance of the high- 
born Normans, as well as Saxons, joined with the 
universal jubilee of the lower orders, that marked the 
marriage of two individuals as a pledge of the future 
peace and harmony betwixt two races, which, since that 
period, have been so completely mingled that the dis- 
tinction has become wholly invisible. Cedric lived to 
see this union approximate towards its completion ; for, 
as the two nations mixed in society and formed inter- 
marriages with each other, the Normans abated their 
scorn, and the Saxons were refined from their rusticity. 
But it was not until the reign of Edward the Third that 
the mixed language, now termed English, was spoken 
at the court of London, and that the hostile distinction 
of Norman and Saxon seems entirely to have dis- 
appeared. 

It was upon the second morning after this happy 
bridal that the Lady Rowena was made acquainted by 
her handmaid Elgitha, that a damsel desired admission 
to her presence, and solicited that their parley might be 
without witness. Rowena wondered, hesitated, became 
curious, and ended by commanding the damsel to be 
admitted, and her attendants to withdraw. 

She entered — a noble and commanding figure, the 
long white veil, in which she was shrouded, overshadow- 
ing rather than concealing the elegance and majesty of 
her shape. Her demeanour was that of respect, un- 
mingled by the least shade either of fear or of a wish to 
propitiate favour. Rowena was ever ready to acknowl- 
edge the claims, and attend to the feelings, of others. 
She arose, and would have conducted her lovely visitor to 
a seat ; but the stranger looked at Elgitha, and again 
intimated a wish to discourse with the Lady Rowena 
alone. Elgitha had no sooner retired with unwilling 


IVANHOE 


555 


steps than, to the surprise of the Lady of Ivanhoe, her 
fair visitant kneeled on one knee, pressed her hands to 
her forehead, and bending her head to the ground, in 
spite of Rowena’s resistance, kissed the embroidered 
hem of her tunic. 

‘‘What means this, lady.?^” said the surprised bride; 
“ or why do you offer me a deference so unusual? ” 

“Because to you. Lady of Ivanhoe,” said Rebecca, 
rising up and resuming the usual quiet dignity of her 
manner, “ I may lawfully, and without rebuke, pay the 
debt of gratitude which I owe to Wilfred of Ivanhoe. 
I am — forgive the boldness which has offered to you 
the homage of my country — I am the unhappy Jewess 
for whom your husband hazarded his life against such 
fearful odds in the tiltyard of Templestowe.” 

“ Damsel,” said Rowena, “ Wilfred of Ivanhoe on 
that day rendered back but in slight measure your un- 
ceasing charity towards him in his wounds and mis- 
fortunes. Speak, is there aught remains in which he 
or I can serve thee ? ” 

“Nothing,” said Rebecca, calmly, “unless you will 
transmit to him my grateful farewell.” 

“You leave England, then?” said Rowena, scarcely 
recovering the surprise of this extraordinary visit. 

“ I leave it, lady, ere this moon again changes. My 
father hath a brother high in favour with Mohammed 
Boabdil, King of Grenada: thither we go, secure of 
peace and protection, for the payment of such ransom 
as the Moslem exact from our people.” 

“ And are you not then as well protected in Eng- 
land?” said Rowena. “My husband has favour with 
the King; the King himself is just and generous.” 

“Lady,” said Rebecca, “I doubt it not; but the 
people of England are a fierce race, quarrelling ever 
with their neighbours or among themselves, and ready 
to plunge the sword into the bowels of each other. 
Such is no safe abode for the children of my people. 


IVANHOE 


ooG 

Ephraim is a heartless dove ; Issachar an over-laboured 
drudge, which stoops between two burdens. Not in a 
land of war and blood, surrounded by hostile neigh- 
bours, and distracted by internal factions, can Israel 
hope to rest during her wanderings.” 

“ But you, maiden,” said Rowena — “you surely can 
have nothing to fear. She who nursed the sick-bed of 
Ivanhoe,” she continued, rising with enthusiasm — 
“ she can have nothing to fear in England, where Saxon 
and Norman will contend who shall most do her 
honour.” 

“ Thy speech is fair, lady,” said Rebecca, “ and thy 
purpose fairer; but it may not be — there is a gulf 
betwixt us. Our breeding, our faith, alike forbid either 
to pass over it. Farewell; yet, ere I go, indulge me 
one request. The bridal veil hangs over thy face; 
deign to raise it, and let me see the features of which 
fame speaks so highly.” 

“ They are scarce worthy of being looked upon,” said 
Rowena ; “ but, expecting the same from my visitant, I 
remove the veil.” 

She took it off accordingly ; and, partly from the 
consciousness of beauty, and partly from bashfulness, 
she blushed so intensel}^ that cheek, brow, neck, and 
bosom were suffused with crimson. Rebecca blushed 
also ; but it was a momentary feeling, and, mastered by 
higher emotions, past slowly from her features like the 
crimson cloud which changes colour when the sun sinks 
beneath the horizon. 

“ Lady,” she said, “ the countenance you have deigned 
to show me will long dwell in my remembrance. There 
reigns in it gentleness and goodness ; and if a tinge 
of the world’s pride or vanities may mix with an expres- 
sion so lovely, how should we chide that which is of 
earth for bearing some colour of its original.^ Long, 
long will I remember your features, and bless God that 
I leave my noble deliverer united with — ” 


IVANHOE 


557 


She stopped short — her eyes filled with tears. She 
hastily wiped them, and answered to the anxious in- 
quiries of Rowena — “I am well, lady — well. But 
my heart swells when I think of Torquilstone and the 
lists of Templestowe. Farewell. One, the most tri- 
fling, part of my duty remains undischarged. Accept 
this casket; startle not at its contents.” 

Rowena opened the small silver-chased casket, and 
perceived a carcanet, or necklace, with ear-jewels, of 
diamonds, which were obviously of immense value. 

“ It is impossible,” she said, tendering back the 
casket. ‘‘ I dare not accept a gift of such consequence.” 

“A^et keep it, lady,” returned Rebecca. “You have 
power, rank, command, influence; we have wealth, the 
source both of our strength and weakness; the value 
of these toys, ten times multiplied, would not influence 
half so much as your slightest wish. To you, therefore, 
the gift is of little value ; and to me, what I part with is 
of much less. Let me not think you deem so wretchedly 
ill of my nation as your commons believe. Think ye 
that I prize these sparkling fragments of stone above 
my liberty.? or that my father values them in compari- 
son to the honour of his only child ? Accept them, lady 
— to me they are valueless. I will never wear jewels 
more.” 

“ A^ou are then unhappy ! ” said Rowena, struck 
with the manner in which Rebecca uttered the last 
words. “ O, remain with us ; the counsel of holy men 
will wean you from your erring law, and I will be a 
sister to you.” 

“ No, lady,” answered Rebecca, the same calm 
melancholy reigning in her soft voice and beautiful 
features ; “ that may not be. I may not change the 
faith of my fathers like a garment unsuited to the 
climate in which I seek to dwell ; and unhappy, lady, I 
will not be. He to whom I dedicate my future life will 
be my comforter, if I do His will.” 


558 


IVANHOE 


“Have you then convents, to one of which you 
mean to retire?” asked Rowena. 

“No, lady,” said the Jewess; “but among our peo- 
ple, since the time of Abraham downwards, have been 
women who have devoted their thoughts to Heaven, and 
their actions to works of kindness to men — tending the 
sick, feeding the hungry, and relieving the distressed. 
Among these will Rebecca be numbered. Say this to 
thy lord, should be chance to inquire after the fate of 
her whose life he saved.” 

There was an involuntary tremor on Rebecca’s voice, 
and a tenderness of accent, which perhaps betrayed 
more than she would willingly have expressed. She 
hastened to bid Rowena adieu. 

“Farewell,” she said. “May He who made both 
Jew and Christian shower down on you His choicest 
blessings ! The bark that wafts us hence will be under 
weigh ere we can reach the port.” 

She glided from the apartment, leaving Rowena sur- 
prised as if a vision had passed before her. The fair 
Saxon related the singular conference to her husband, 
on whose mind it made a deep impression. He lived 
long and happily with Rowena, for they were attached 
to each other by the bonds of early affection, and they 
loved each other the more from the recollection of the 
obstacles which had impeded their union. Yet it 
would be inquiring too curiously to ask whether the 
recollection of Rebecca’s beauty and magnanimity 
did not recur to his mind more frequently than the 
fair descendant of Alfred might altogether have 
approved. 

Ivanhoe distinguished himself in the service of 
Richard, and was graced with further marks of the 
royal favour. He might have risen still higher but for 
the premature death of the heroic Coeur-de-Lion, before 
the Castle of Chaluz, near Limoges. With the life of a 
generous, but rash and romantic, monarch perished all 


IVANHOE 


559 


the projects which his ambition and his generosity had 
formed ; to whom may be applied, with a slight altera- 
tion, the lines composed by Johnson for Charles of 
Sweden — 

His fate was destined to a foreign strand, 

A petty fortress and an “humble” hand; 

He left the name at which the world grew pale. 

To point a moral, or adorn a tale. 


THE END 





















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